In the mean time…

In the mean time

there are short words

and shorter thoughts,

a precise forgetting

of together things

a sharp memory of the blunt;

in the mean time

footfall drops too soft

knock too loud

word is better not said

and silence is forbidden,

in the mean time

you are better dead

for dead is what you are. 

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Co-workers

They walk in and out

of my room

as I enter-exit theirs,

friends and colleagues

walking carriers of fear and hope

mask-wearing and unmasked

perhaps like me,

they come with complaint

and suggestion

demand and supply

the randomness of our days

the moments that drive

the events that frame

and they come

with tea or coffee

copy or excuse

heart or mind or both

paper to sign

joke to share

these paper-makers

who test my work-time teeth

in their uniqueness

different from one another

varied from hour to hour

and I wonder:

do they come to see me

and see someone else instead,

like I do

when with smile or grime

or threat and pledge

they walk in and walk out? 

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Bhavatu sabba-mangalam

Not in that longed for moment
not in knot
nor bound in ring,
not in the flower and bouquet,
the pouring of atha pan
the chanting 
the consecration of approval
of beta-sheafed worship,
not in lamp, wick or flame
the roll of drum
or swirl of dance,
not in celebratory kiss
the prosperity wish 
of the punkalasa 
the abundance wish of rice
but in the tear drop and near drop
the breaking and awakening
the everyday of togetherness
the hurdles of wrong-word
wrong-time
and doubt-rats mocking
irreversibility;
for these and little else
a simple line to murmer:
‘May there be every blessing!’

[Published in the UNDO Section of 'The Nation', inspired by the photography of Rukshan Abeywansha and with thanks to Mithila and Wasana]

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For M....

We spoke of trips, all kinds
of companions on our journeys
and journeys too,
we stop of trips
about property rights
of the intellectual kind,
of trees and garbage too
places that were immediate
people too,
and we spoke
over popcorn and unrepeatable menus
about silly things
like fear
and laughter
and we laughed
and all that time
she read me
through words and ink
on A-4 paper
and conversation drop;
I don’t remember
what was then unforgettable
and I remember now
what was then unnoticed
and I say to myself
like Pound and others
‘Time saw this,
that’s enough’.

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Fences and walls

Posts driven into earth breathtaking interval stops
neat brick-row broken glass topped
or barbed
or lanterned for aesthetics
their eye-less stares forbid
and invites;
so I went
I looked
and I report.

Weed-seeds fly over

and fall on neighbor,
soil moves in rain-rush
and moves on
from his to mine
to his or her downhill,
real estate is dusted
and wind-sent from door to door
to settle on floor, table and window-sill
swept out duly
and left without owner-tag,
bird-picked seeds fall
gardens erupt
in thora, kiri-henda batu, penela
leafy greened truths
mock boundaries
the surveyor’s lines
dissolve territorial fascination
and homelands move around
like bucks and water.

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A story of eyes

They say eyes are for reading so I eye-gaze and un-clutter
ear from word
run through word-maze
in an eye-seek insanity
like I always have
until someone touched
seeing eye and unseeing eye
walked past written word
picked up the lost silences
and then the world
in a monumental shift
and crazy juxtaposition
turned everything into eye
a million witnesses
that read and heard and said
dissected and pronounced
this and that
and I broke
into laughter
laughed and laughed and laughed
and the world laughed back
with me
at me,
it matters not
for this world is mirth-made
so mirth-made
that it can’t stop the tears.

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Home Days

And then there are home-days when little girls play and teach:
‘The First Peoples of North America’
is a card game
where I learn the dimensions
of ignorance;
there’s ‘have you heard this song?’
there’s ‘I’m done eating’
when she has not,
there’s a sudden shower
and no clothes to take in,
a dog that follows
from room to room to garden
in soft pawed accompaniment
and the hours move
by way of light-angle
and the relay of creature sound
birds, dogs and monkeys,
rats too, now and then. 
Home-days are still days
of the world moving
sun signs and must-do things
and of little girls playing
and I playing along. 

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