Kelani Viharaya

What is the underside of delicate 
if not the coarse,
what is the reverse of  transience 
if not firm of faith,
where is the resolution 
of opposites
the unity of  the disparate 
what is the name of that mark
whner lay ends and bikkhu begins,
where is the path 
and what signs say 
‘this way is illusion
and that, 
clarity’,
it is not known
but will be
by and by,
it is believed.

[Inspired by the photography of Dileeshiya Ilangakoan]

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Leaf Song

Leaf-days and leaflessness

time-swept lives that came,

stayed and went away,

cloud formations ever re-configuring,

thoughts that strayed

and things that remained

sentinels see it all

but some hear all secrets

of careless yield

and forget

in conveniences learned

for things that come

must move or perish

like leaves that find root

and nourish

in cycles pre-determined

in un-inked long-agos.

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Guaranteed Refuge

Veneration has residences

tarries on fingertips

ancient combinations

of movement and tune

the working on drum

tight whip-grip

replication of lightning

invoking in scripted order

an outcome collectively sought;

veneration is a thread

running through pageant

whispering through music

the festival of sound

a thin light-sliver

stitching devotion

side stepping spectacle

and in the midst of it all

the silent acknowledgment

of enduring giver

of unmeasured strength

assured, assured, assured refuge:

the Dalada Hamuduruwo.

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My father who is in another world

I don’t know about you

but I’ve cried

in secret when I could

and at times tears came too fast

to run or hide;

I don’t know about you

but I think you were stronger

I don’t know about you,

maybe you could swallow your heart

and suck back your eyes

or do whatever it was

so I could never see

not even for a moment

regret or remorse

sorrow for what you’ve done

or could not do or say,

I don’t know about you,

but if we talk temperature

no tears as hot have I known

than those marked ‘child’

for I’m father

much more than child, lover, friend

or citizen;

I don’t know about you

but maybe half a century

is too short a time

to know or see,

I don’t know about you

and your father,

and if you’ve thought this way

and wondered,

but for now

I will err on the side of hope

and worship for all the tears

I’ve never seen you cry

or for the distance

that makes for happy drought.  

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Color palette incomparable

Primary colors are for mix

abandon and abundance
of metaphorical flush
temperatured too
in the gift of warm and cool
trembling impression
in an open book test
defying assessment
read-as-you-will  liberation
tiny things that speak
of magnificent volumes
epic poetry
in drop form
and leaves of gone times
in going waters.

Inspired by the photography of Sameera Jayasingha 

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Rukshan Abeywansha*

Life is life

with or without scribe

for men come and go

and women too

but life has come-go ways

and ways of being

some apparent and some blurred

but there are eyes

and there are eyes

some can freeze movement

and unfreeze the solid

to this date we do not know

if it was about lens and zoom

or heart and smile

butRukshan’s pick and choose

drew out salience 

fingertip work

that touched

blessed

healed

made whole

made tender.

Pics by RukshanAbeywansha

Articles of Faith

There are mortals

and the immortal

community

and collective prayer

and those who see word

don’t need face

and those who see face

miss word;

and then there are the rare

those who go beyond

visual and text

or inhabit these

at depth and below

surface and above -

and they can say

but won’t

‘Anal Haq’

in the true recognition

of omnipresence

and ultimate submission

to omnipotence. 

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