This is the ninth part of the translation of Mahagama
Sekera's epic poem 'Prabuddha', an exercise that has the permission and
blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera. Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI , VII and VIII were published in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com.
He was hero thereafter
To those who wore bellbottoms and mini skirts
to those with hair gathered high
and stylishly tied
to those thick lipped
and with long fingernails
to married women
lascivious and seductive.
And they cast their lustful glance
with puckered lips all lipsticked
but not for his voice
or handsome face
‘Vernon went abroad
for a conference
how about a weekend, darling,
let’s say in Belihuloya?’
But whatever the gains
whatever the heights he scaled
his mind was steadily impoverished
his soul lay felled and sprawled on the ground.
Those lipsticked lips
were red and full of mindless lust
and mascara-ridden eye-edge
burned with envy;
cutting through the convivial conversation
was hatred, unadulterated.
‘Prabuddha!
empty this life is
barren it is.
Look!
just beneath the flimsy gold
in the intersection of fragrances
between fingers of hands
extended for shake, for greeting
the contours of hypocrisy
in its full nudity.’
Hoodwinked
over and over again,
he felt.
They were at the table
these well-groomed folk
important personalities
pushing away in their drunkenness
the polished silverware
grabbing with both sides
devouring the meats
dripping with juices and saliva
and he thought:
‘I too am like a creature
fed and fattened
for table, for feast.’
‘You are an outsider
among them
a foreigner;
this is no place for you
leave!’
‘Yasodha!
But I cannot go,
cannot leave you.
I’ve sold my soul to the merchants
just to please your mind
gladden your heart,
sold it to the merchants
to be one with you.
And since then
and until now
I’ve known no peace
just disillusionment
an emptiness
regret.
And to unfetter myself from regret
from disillusionment
I spill wine with friends
until midnight and beyond
until freed of memory
until senseless,
gambled in gambling dens
until event last cent was gone.
And yet there is no peace,
no contentment, no relief.
Come consciousness
and the mind breaks into sobs:
“You must leave!”
But I cannot
I cannot leave you.’
