The human landscape

Landscape immemorial

where mountains and valleys

trees and caverns

depressions and signature peaks

are born to decay

in the rise and fall

of civilization and illusion

the erosion of dream

and the reincarnation of hope

these are lines that await us

with soft-time patience.

[Inspired by the line drawings of Gamini Abeykoon]

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Saffron Song

It was the longest procession
longest in Asia
or at least in memory
so they said
of this Esala that colored street
in the saffron of renunciation
the white of adherence,
calculable in feet
or other length-units
and of the more enduring march
from here to ultimate destination
none can stop and say
‘I’ve come this far
and I’ve only that far to go,’
or ‘the long journey is almost done’
but here on the street
and from pavement
there’s much to take
from smile
and from feet
that leave no print
but re-traces nevertheless
the word that liberates.

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Imagining the Buddha

Delicate is advocated practice

and truth let’s say resides

between grip and nonchalance

delicate is the hand that crafts

posture and countenance

in ways that inspire

ways that prompt reflection

delicate has to be the eye

to reproduce the unblemished

to obtain from granite

compassion unparalleled.

[Inspired by the line drawing of the Galvihara Buddha statue by Gamini Abeykoon]

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Patācāra

She was not Patācāra or Kisā Gōtami
unmarked by birth or legend
role in a nidāna kathāva to illustrate salience;
she was Sriyani
not from Sāvatti
and unmentioned in the Therigātha.
Sriyani of Bowalawatte
is hardly poetic
widowed and tumored
she did not look for mustard
from deathless households
(she knew that story)
she bore her weights
she sent her son to school
and daughter too
who a month ago
was with words struck down
two -- lung, cancer
and she went her way
just the other day
but Sriyani of Bowalawatte
had breath and word
just enough to say:
‘Think, little one, of the Buddha’
and was blessed to hear her say
‘That’s what I do, Amma’
and those words she took with her
a mustard seed as salve enough
this nun of so much fortitude.

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A lovely bunch of coconuts

A tree for the ages
from tap root to top
nothing to discard
love notes to civilization
crafted to please
sense by sense
made to make easy
sojourns brief and long
and we forget
here in this island
how naked we would be
un-shaded
un-nourished
un-frilled
by this generous palm.

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The reed-wrought

Long before finger-flip, twist and turn,
the over-under of now and then another,
long before pigment and pattern,
the selection of motif
and the play of cultural politics,
long before markets and marketing,
display and sexying up,
the subduing of use-value
the consecration of exchange,
where bag is not bag but status
mat is not for ‘sat’ but wall,
long before the counting of coins
and assessment of the viable commercial
there was sun, weed and a bit of earth
and from there to now is a long story
ours to discover
our to (mis)read
and cherish.
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All life is paper-made

Like water, let’s say
takes shape of container
or like clay malleable
can be crumpled or torn
written on or left blank
soaked in the acidity of sorrow
touched with happier hue
recycled if so wished
paper like life
is in your hands
and yet not unopen
to the re-birthing
with blade and brush.

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