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Poetry
King of spin - Conqueror of 800 scalps
Morning glory blooming to universal fame
Unvanquished Hero with only one undaunted aim
Trophy after Trophy with pride he won for us
True son of the soil, you are forever for us
Isn't he cricket's demi-god conquering all
And without a sneer nor a swear when victims fall
How's that we could hear when for lbw you oft call
Many a star batsman has lost his valuable wicket
Upon facing your deceptive spin in test or one-day cricket
Right from the word 'go' you lifted our spirits
Amidst cheers and Hosannas you silenced your critics
Little does the batsman know his waterloo he'll meet
Is there anyone else who could emulate his Himalayan feat?
Truly not for another fifty years or so, at least!
Hailing from the hill country where you learnt your art
And polished and honed it well after your own heart
Real Magician with the ball you upset cricket's apple cart
Always smiling, never deriding but intent on your cherished Vision
Now or never and forever you have accomplished your dauntless Mission!
Rienzie Ivan Perera
Contentment
Contentment is blissful, free of burdens,
Mind directed towards good ethics,
Emanates sound and purified thoughts,
Enabling satisfaction in every sphere.
Avarice and greed tends to acquire extensively
Making life a complicated struggle.
Resulting in hatred rivalry and atrocities
Degenerating the morals of man.
Discontent erodes man mentally and physically
But, seeking self-satisfaction in what he possesses
Bring calmness and delight to him and to others
Then, decency and tranquillity can prevail in the environment.
Genuine contentment in life
Doesn't head borrowing or lending
Robbing, plundering or snatching away what others own
Which harm the fellow men, most sadly.
Ignoring contented life styles
Some wallow in corrupting and illegal deals
But, cohesion of truthfulness, honesty, simplicity
Can retrieve these ills of man.
Contentment leads to harmonious living
Intensifying virtue, seeling subdued lives.
Thereby earning confidence and happiness
Which can raise the souls of man to sublime heights.
Dayaseeli Senaratne
Chase
Rain. Pouring in torrents. Unleashes its power over the hopeless.
Faces. Streaming with tears of rain water.
Stay motioniess, stoned to chill. Trapped
Helplessly under trees and bus stands with no life shelter.
Rain hath no mercy. It snatches at ripe fruit off their tender stems
Gnashes at nests poised precariously in their fragile niches, edging out
Drenched birds into homeless despair
Nobody dances, in the rain, no more. Too harsh a lashing against the
window pane.
Burrowing holes on the tarred roads; digging puddles wider to flood the
lanes
Drowning tenements and kajan huts in a pool of murky waters
Cutting off ties with traces of life and living. The powerful
Have their heyday; they are free to have their own way; as if it were
heartless
Mercy is not what they profess. Kindness is not at their behest.
In the dark alley that is life itself, rain is the powerful invader at
its game; the chase
Who's chasing whom? The powerful chasing the weak and helpless over
the edge
Maybe. Maybe not. Are we chasing after power? Chasing a whim? A fancy? A
myth?
Or being chased; by plain white fear? Fear of tomorrow?
Fear of want; harassment; powerlessness? Fear of more fear
The only way is to lie at the right juncture, waiting; Waiting for power
to take the turn
To come round the corner. Jump upon power unbalancing it out of focus.
Then make power, powerless.
I see no other option. Blinded by rain. Blinded by the need to have
enough power
To overthrow power itself. To feel free from being chased.
Harassed. Of being tormented.
To feel free from want of power.
Charmaine Fernando
Ship
Ships: many a kind;
Big or small we can find,
Some sail to destinations said,
While some to the sea bed
Leaving no trace to be read.
Yet, a ship is there
It can go even in the air;
This ship does never sink
As it has a strong link
Neither can pirates loot
Nor enemies can shoot
Oh! What is this ship?
It's ... it's our friendship!
A Jayalath Basnagoda
Unpredictable Nature
The strong sound of the speedy wind
Roaring of thunder, flashing of lightening
Like shaking the floor, dashing the trees
Darkness covered the whole street
Shattering of the icy drops
Bag and baggage in every hands
Over-takings and blowing of horns
Rushing people backward home
That's the time you came along
Sound of the drops, on to the roof top
Falling as stones, rolling on to the ground
Peeping out, through my window
Zum...Zum...Zum
Spreading of that rough-tuned whistle
Across the street and the dreadful gloom
Shocked with the thickened stream
of the non-stop rain, still pouring down
Tired of listening, I have fallen on
I remember, closing my eyes
Sudden tickling of the cold breeze
Taking away the awful weariness
Pushing towards the pleasing thoughts
Freshening to start another day
Forcing me to my little window
I looked through
Amazing... to see the bright sunshine
Embracing the blooming petals
Shiny dew drops along the green grass
All set to a beautiful beginning
Moving shadows, the daily routines
Enlightening your magical powers
You stay calm and quiet
After a rough tarantella
Displaying your unpredictable nature
Inherited only in you
Susi Abeynanda
World Peace
Globalization...!
With many good,
But have shredded peace,
into pieces
Day by day, thousands of death.
World leaders meet,
Conferences held,
Pose together for photographs,
With a smile, but a burning heart.
Agreements! not agreed,
Ceasefires not implemented.
Humble souls are parting us,
Day and night.
Blood and tears, mixed together.
To mop the mother earth.
Nature! angered by human behaviour,
Sends her punishments,
One after the other as,
Floods, earthquakes,
volcanoes, tsunami, cyclone...
Yet man is at agreed,
For power and wealth.
Elites lead.
Poor are oppressed.
Man has lost human sense,
Hearts hardened,
Feelings lost,
So all have lost peace and harmony.
Eyes close, but nobody sleeps.
Tears roll down cheeks for... peace.
M N Kaiyoom
Nearing Death....
The man is born to this earth
With a truth that behold from birth
That your ends with death
One cannot postpone but meet with truth
All the world's a stage
Men and women dance to their age
There are seven ages for you to dance
First five are the best of course
The sixth age begins with old age
Where you lose your charm and shape
You are infirm, sick and shrunk in all
Look for help from sundry and all
When at the door step of death
Think of acts done in good and bad faith
Teeth, eyes and taste you had
Are no more to witness what you did
Sick bed and death bed are almost the same
Second child hood has come with no fame
Depend on others like a child
Need others' support before finally dying
The sins committed are haunting in you
No good acts have ever done by you
Think of St. Peter waiting for you
At the Pearly gate to welcome you!
J Nagodavithana
Daily Routine ......!
The alarm runs at three
With a warning of the 5.30 bus
Then Maya runs to the kitchen to boil some rice
She runs upstairs with bed tea for the kids,
Irons the clothes of fussy kids
Who fights for trivial things
Scolds them for playing hide and seek early morning,
Drags them to the school van after feeding them,
Forcibly with a handful of rice.
Then she swallows a piece of bread with sambol,
and rushes to catch the bus,
Shabbily dressed in a crushed 'Kandyan' and a rubber jacket
Sometimes she forgets to brush her teeth,
She runs to the bus stop at 5.29
The gets on board pushing others aside
Goes through the daily schedule
If one offers the seat
Curses the driver at every stop;
Curses the closed railway barriers.
"Oh! Why cant they have tubes here too ?
Alas ! Then a traffic jam !
She gets down and runs forward as a mad cow
to get into the bus at the right front
knocking down one or two,
Then gets down at the junction
Thinking how nice of the "finger machine" is fixed,
on the flamboyant tree !
Then she hunts for a three wheeler
Another fifty bucks !
Then hurries to great 'good morning to the finger machine,
With daggers in her heart.
She presses the green button with all her might.
"Once .... twice ..... thrice ......
"Please try again", "Please try again, Please try again
The machine wails
Now eight .... eight ten, eight twenty ..... eight thirty ....
She presses it hard with all her might
till the machine numbers 'Thank you".
'Another short leave as usual|
She frowns at the machine and runs to the class
with head full of plans,
to conquer the machine at least the next day !
Anula Peramuna
The Wofs of the Bovines
As cows and bulls, miserable we are
Victims to man's misdemeanors
Maltreated we are by the civilized man
Whom no animals help as much as we do
But suffer his cruelty resignedly.
Subsists the selfish man on our milk
On which he makes a living.
On meadows we graze for fodder
To fill our belly, sans any cost to him;
Draw loaded carts at his beck and call
Foaming in our mouth without water;
For this arduous task a bonus we get-
Beating and prodding to move faster;
Toil and moil in his field for his gain
And our dung used to knead his house floor.
But man still ungrateful, savage and cruel
And reciprocates not our selfless service.
Segregates the calf from the mother
For he needs our milk for pecuniary gain;
In our old age freedom of life denied to us
Drives us to the slaughter house man of stony heart
To make money from our meat and hyde.
Without compunction sees us in the abattoir
Where our brothers and sisters, limbs tethered, beheaded;
As their anguished cries and blood bath abattoir
Shudder we and await our turn,
Shedding useless tears to avoid this tortuous destiny.
A F Dawood |
