A sandesaya to Gamini Fonseka

Tell us of the roles you play

the scripts that come alive
as you walk and walk,
speak and say nothing,
in your gaze and gesture,
out there in those other locations
among the other heroes
supporting casts
props and equipment.
Tell us about that life,
the parameters
within which they capture
moment and a love note
a kiss and an arrow;
the contortions of the human condition
the comedy, tragedy and other undefined things.
Tell us about the play of power,
of dignity and arrogance
the slippages
between ‘possible’ and ‘impossible’,
loose words, and
silence that draws from the eternal verities.
Tell us about the heroines,
the casuals,
the portraits shattered with gunfire
the images that were not bullet-proof
but which survived.
Tell us,
in this land beyond recall,
how tall you are,
how commanding;
give us the dimensions
of profile and bearing.
Do you, for example,
hold the screen in a clenched fist
or in your determined eyes,
or have you disappeared
in the burning black-white frame
of your own exhalations
or crushed like the cigarette-ends
you ground out
to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’
as per script
or out of it,
as was your way?

[first published in 'The Nation' in October 2006, a few days after his death]

Earthworms

“O Father

why do we not go

for the Ploughing Festival?

Even the king today

will step into the paddy field..

should we not this silence break

and inform them all

how we made fertile this soil

hidden in the bowels of the earth?”

“Little one,

the blade of the mammoty

must into the dark mud cut

and of those who fertilized

and those who did not

is quite unconcerned —

so dig deeper into the dark mud

for son,

it is inadvisable 

to crawl 

to surface openness”

[translation of "ගැඩවිල්ලු" from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" (The next wine) by Ruwan Bandujeewa]

The sun has another reservoir emptied

Flowers from resplendent waters picked

fish and cormorants thereafter banished 

the sun this time around had emptied 

and by the wayside a reservoir laid

Upon a cheek with dismal silt marked 

a scar from a brick-maker's cut

a decaying skull 

the sign of a long dead love

There's no one, none at all

blue-clad waves to caress

just a heart lacerated 

by bottles of pest-killing poisons

Flowers from resplendent waters picked

fish and cormorants thereafter banished 

the sun this time around had emptied 

and by the wayside a reservoir laid

The sun it's eyes roll this way and that

wondering if there may come by 

an inquirer who may survey 

and the reservoir's story obtains ere the rain clouds arrive.

[translation of "ඉර මෙවර තවත් වැවක් හිස්කර" from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" (The next wine) by Ruwan Bandujeewa]

It must be so

For the bearing of sweet fruit
upon fraternal canopies
all the poisons mixed in soil
perhaps the niyangala roots did sip

[translation of "එහෙම වෙන්නැති" from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" (The next wine) by Ruwan Bandujeewa]

Speechless crows

Even just now
in the Pettah
there are crow eggs
in Jam, Bo and Kottamba trees
bursting

when the young come out
are crows with response ready  
to questions they will surely ask?

Mother takes broom in beak
sets out at dawn
sweeps the roads
large compounds
and vast gardens
but however much she strives
strangely do the cruel leaves
descend on the morrow

tomorrow too 
she'll take flight
'Mother, why can't we
just go somewhere
to a small garden
of our own?"

On Malwatte Street
Father sells necklaces and rings
stainless steel
thorn-cut wings 
break off and fly
throughout the day
his soles swell come evening
as we watch
why can't we too
be like the golden oriole 
like the blue-breasted dove?

Even just now
in the Pettah
there are crow eggs
in Jam, Bo and Kottamba trees
bursting

as for the questions they will ask
are parent-crows equipped 
with ready response?

[translation of "කපුටන්ට කෝ උත්තර?" from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" (The next wine) by Ruwan Bandujeewa]

Silk Road

In neither East nor West
of a silk-clad silk-worm 
that came along the Silk Road
there's no mention,
but why?

At the bottom of boiling pots of water
dead young worms disintegrate
the screams of the dying at scorching 
as splendid silk does rise

An orphaned baby worm
never having dreamt of silk
among the dark mulberry bushes
curls up against the cold

[translation of "සේද මාවත" from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" (The next wine) by Ruwan Bandujeewa]

The Aukana replica on Bauddhaloka Mawatha

In these regions resides not

an errant prince 

who his father buries alive

for refusing to reveal 

where the royal riches were kept

no, just kings who calls on sons

divides wealth as fit

In that vast conference hall

where the kala wewa ought to have been

international book fairs - exhibitions and sales - beautiful dances

passionate debates among ancient seers

of philosophies numbering sixty two

theatre - skincare — cookery demonstrations

like the five blossoms sway

Every now and then arrives someone looking for true image within a replica

tarries a moment or two seeking to detect in replica an error

someone who hasn’t seen original is by replica pleased

original and replica in identical pose remain

[Translation of Ruwan Bandujeewa's poem "බෞද්ධාලෝක මාවතේ අවුකන අනුරුව" in 'මීළඟ මීවිත' (The Next Wine)]