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Wednesday, 24 February 2016

Monsoon Eyes

In the monsoon of your eyes
the winds of epic histories sway
the hair of time and timelessness entangle,
wet with lament and expectation;
in the monsoon of your eyes
little babies are born
and are named 'Hope',
new signatures of being are engraved
on the faces of old men,
and lovers
caught in inevitable winds
dance and scream in pain
intoxicated with togetherness.

Tuesday, 9 February 2016

The yield of forbidden words



When forbidden words cripple 
lanes into spaces I turn 
between verses, words and letters
slowly crawl,
love-dust from footprints 
I pour into old clay vessels
with sweet nothings half-filled
and with that mad mix craft
silent ornaments
so they may 
the scriptless stories
of a muted heart 
speak.


Monday, 8 February 2016

Yo! Yo!



[Notes for a ballad about Yoshitha Rajapaksa]

When the mighty fall
There is a crash,
Happen when big meets floor,
And when the high and mighty fall
There’s a roar
a smirk amplified
By collective discontent
A from-the-ground endorsement
The higher,
The louder.

You were high, Yo!
Mightily high.
Should’ve known better
Is a comes-too-late whisper
But now you know
Of high and low
The laws of gravity
The sting that waits
And finds its mark.

“Selective!”
Did I hear you scream?
Oh! But of course Yo,
That’s the come and go
And going around
Out there
There may be the worse
And maybe they’ll stay free,
But that’s weak defense, you know. 

As for selectivity
Witch-hunting and revenge
Well, two can clap
So if you see no yaha
In this here palanaya

It’s just name-change at the top
And name-change where they made you stop
This name and that name
The Maithri and the Vairee
But that’s just a proper nouns game
What was
Is
still
And that’s no consolation, true
Got to go with the stiff upper lip
Do the grin and bear
Of incarceration-commonality
Give or take a few
From the Merchant Ward,
Small mercies, Yo
Say 'thank you' and 'please'
It won't hurt. 

There was cheer when you did soar
And now that you’ve fallen
loudly will they roar
There’ll be jeer
For every tear
For there is your father and his son
As there were other fathers and other sons
In your father’s time and long before too
You are public Yo
Not others though
And so much grief
Is private and confidential
You might not know
But your father does
Yes now he does. 
‘Yes, he damn well does!’
Did someone yell?
Well we can ask
‘Did you always have such voice?’
We can, Yo,
But you,
You cannot, no.


Now you are just one of many
A number and not a name
You’ve gone to a place Yo
where others have been
And still others are yet to go
And who can tell
When the jailed and jailor
Their places exchange;
It’s happened before Yo
And you for sure would know.

So Yo!
Take heart bro!
You are written about
Jeered yes,
But it’s all recorded.
Other who came before
And those who will come later
Of them there won't be word
Save those that are swallowed
On account of 'what's-the-point'

Think about it. 
You have time. 




Friday, 5 February 2016

For my baby

You move
from unidentified to recognized
unfamiliar to familiar
as you discover hands, I discover a seeking
as you breathe your unspoken complaints
I discover potency
strength to equal your tenderness;
unnamed infant
how like me you are,
loved but lost
found but undiscovered;
little child I've a blanket for you
a heart that's yours, now and always
and that, little girl
is all I own
a cradle poorly made,
a desire to learn.
Teacher,
who knows not that she informs
tell me things:
about innocence
it's fragrance and recovery,
about unconditional love,
about growing up
without losing your name,
tell me how your heart beats
how innocence throbs through veins,
breathe into me
the breezes of your baby existence
and cure me of the weariness
that has invaded and remains.  

[This was written on November 10, 2003, less than two months after my little girl was born]

Wednesday, 3 February 2016

Send me all (or nothing)

Send me a mountain
I will describe it
shape, size and shadow
the greens, the grey and brown
erasable with the blues of distance;
send me a river
I will in its colour and temperature
wash away my sins
and call forth
the lost archives
of all the love stories
that can never end;
send me your ocean too
and I will drown my resistance
in its rolling sheets;
send me nothing
and I will on thin air fly
and all my words and silences
to you surrender .

Monday, 1 February 2016

The sound of impossible love

When tropical sunlight 
meets moonlight's winter blush 
call it time-warp 
or time-zone curl
or misbegotten error 
of tectonic shift 
but it's not melting snow
nor the startled whimper
of surprised forests
not the rustle of surprised seasons, no
 it's really love 
unwrapping.

Wednesday, 20 January 2016

හිස්තැන්

පියසටහන් පිපාසයෙන් බිඳෙන මාවතකි
කටහඬක් නොමැතිව වැලපෙන ගීයකි
පියාපත් එන තුරු මග බලන කුරුල්ලෙකි 
කවකට නොනැගු වදන් පෙළකි
ආලෝකය අධික බැවින් නොපෙනෙන එළියකි
රස බලන්නෙකු නැතිව සිඳෙන චොකලට් ගඟුලකි
මත්බව යදින මිදී පොකුරකි
රටවැසියන් දෙදෙනෙකු සොයන 
රටක් ලෙස නම් නොවුන බිම් අඟලකි.