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Poetry
Brainy kids
Well...., our brainy kids are certainly a curious lot
Not solely because they always retain a place in the
Top Ten slot
But let me explain...., they have never done a deed
of shame
And to add, have led a life fully devoid of blame.
They've never skipped a class or arrived late
To school, and weren't accused of blunders around
the gate
Marvelous, isn't, the way they always got burdened
With a collegeful of praises, so for them
we often applauded?
And what fine debaters they actually were.....
Often, with fear, made the rivalry faces blur
With sweat of the moment, but would always
mild-treat girl-opponents at a debate,
Shake solemn hands, and soon after pretend
to change and secretly masturbate.
'Other guys are disgusting', they say,
and I think that is true
Since we hid and eavesped their chats
to tell this to you...
- Samodh Thaveesha
Misery Thy name is life!
Life's endless Misery
Burgeoning with every dawn
No visible signs of evaporating
Just cascading on and on
Rushing to reach the shores of 'No Return'
Which lies far beyond
Leaving Humanity all at sea
Bruised, tattered and torn!
Nothing begins and nothing ends
That is not paid with moan
For we are born of another's pain
To perish in our own!
- Rienzie Ivan Perara
The Willow leaf
(This poem is dedicated to my English teachers: Rangama (1995-1997),
Deepthi Parakrama (1998-2000), Wasantha Subasinghe (2001-2003) of Kuli/Central
College, Kuliyapitiya) "... Stability itself is nothing but a more
languid motion...." Michel De Montaigne - Of Repentance
With envy I eye,
The huge iron-gate,
The narrow, tree-lined
tarmac,
And the vast play-ground,
As I ride,
By my Alma-Mater,
Once our paradise.
The security people
At the gate,
New buildings,
Additions brought about
by time,
A changer, a leveller,
An obliterator,
Stand obtrusive,
In my sight,
Almost an eye-sore!
O the heavy change
in the familiar,
The known and
the accustomed!
Yet, the temple
trees abloom,
The willow-tops dancing
in the wind,
The old stone wall,
Still appear to me,
Ageless, unchanged,
Stability I call it,
And let old memories
be reawakened,
And my heart be filled
with joy.
But, in the offing,
About the gay willow tops,
I see something faint
floating,
In the wind.
May be, a dry willow-leaf.
- Jayashantha Jayawardhana
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