 That
tall, thin column
Sifting through the pages
Of a newspaper
They stand out
With names like
Lewlyn, Kayla and Tyrene
And others like
Malini, Swinita and Sisil
Parents and siblings
Children and grandchildren
Even great grandchildren
Brothers and sisters-in-law
Aunts, uncles and other relatives
Relationships compressed
Generations brought together
Into a tall, thin column
- Nillasi Liyanage, aged 15, Musaeus College
Thank my friend who took pains to text this whole poem. You may not
buy the story, but let me give credits where it's due. Not only he reads
this regularly, but also inspires and enriches the muse. This poem, he
says, was published in a paper elsewhere.
Frankly I was not so surprised to see the age of the poet - come on
we see matured creations by youngsters in numbers. Geniuses are born,
well, mostly. And the way this poem is written and the smooth flow - oh
it gladdens my heart.
I stopped at the last word, because I wanted to have peek inside
myself. There is something I needed to dig up. Column! I fell in love
with the word for a while or for keeps, perhaps. Look at the following
definitions of 'column' I am extracting from www.thefreedictionary.com:
1. A supporting pillar consisting of a base, a cylindrical shaft, and
a capital.
2. One of two or more vertical sections of typed lines lying side by
side on a page and separated by a rule or a blank space.
3. A feature article that appears regularly in a publication, such as
a newspaper.
So the word has different meanings. And methinks Nillasi blends all
these into one entity, with such a maturity.
Hence the question arises: can this be translated into another
language? I am pretty sure it cannot be into Sinhala. I mean it doesn't
give the meaning in its entirety.
When Nillasi says it's 'generations brought together into a tall,
thin column' we obviously see them all in a small obituary note - that
is definition 2. But none of you can deprive me of seeing them in the
definition 1 column too, no you cannot. Both definition 1 and 2 resemble
each other; my vision is set astride upon a mirror. I have one word to
explain it. It's just beautiful and it strikes my heart no end.
After the 'column', I go to the bottom line of the text message, my
friend's request for my comments. Of course sentiments do come in,
sometimes in clouds and in storms at times, when I loosen my thoughts.
When I try to see through them, they go buried deep underneath. And I am
simply lost for words. And yes, I am lost for words. That leaves me in a
sense of despair - I did not text him back.
I know of people who read Daily News especially to be posted on
funeral proceedings. Most of them are least concerned about feature
stories, let alone 'Random Muse'. It's just their nature - most of them
slowly ageing. They need to mend damaged fences, because the good ones
make good neighbours. Isn't it strange, that the dead do bridge the
living?
That bleakness hangs around the funerals with a peculiar whiff of
mystery. Their faces are a sketch partitioned with a smile and a sob, or
a soberly smile. It's all written on their faces, but we cannot switch
them into wording. Perhaps a painter could handle the job a little
better.
Funerals top our priority lists at times, because the guest would
never get another chance to pay respect to the host. All the conflicts
would be over with the death. That's why funerals force you to be a part
even though only the host is known to you.
Speak no evil of the dead, because they shall rest in peace. And
'sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully' - so said Wordsworth - the song of
death. Because it defines the promise of life.
Oh and let it be. I rest my case.
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