Nocturnalities

Street light and blinds
in nocturnal conspiracy
inscribed;
I precious-breathed
her ambered countenance
to moonlight dreamery;
she was silent
my sleeping beauty
and didn't breathe a word
but took me
to the beginning
of love's unteachabilities
and to the end
of the endlessness
of a fingerless grasp
that's her love.

Prabuddha XXIV

Straight to the tavern he went. =

‘Shhhh!  Waiter!  Two drams!’

‘Shhhh…shhhh…!

and a packet of Bristols.’

There’s intermittent rain outside

and he felt sad.

But was it sorrow that he felt?

He could not say.

The murmur of the rain

articulated his thoughts

he felt

but in another tongue.

Trooped in revelers

from the carnival

and drank their fill

to be rid of the great insanity.

Members of Parliament

ministers and the Government

drew their ire

tables were turned into drums

as they sang

slept some dreaming happy dreams

opened eyes at times to weep.

The cacophony grew in the tavern

more intense too was the rain

and now nothing was clear

everyone together

spoke the truth

and for this reasons

everything was obscure.  

It was past midnight

when Prabuddha reached the station.

‘Great man destined to become Buddha

with hands thrust deep into a dustbin

stirring up polytene, plantain leaves and waste paper

what truth dost thou seek?’

‘I seeketh a bit of rice

a crust of bread and fish-bone

to sustain today

the great man

to become Buddha

so destined!’

Heard a cuckoo call

turned to look

and what did I see? 

only the faded moon

in the early morning sky.

There were beggars in the verandah 

under the long roof

of the Fort Railway Station

close to and facing the walls

stretched out on old newspapers

curled up in rags 

hand thrust under head as pillow.

One of them got up

hearing Prabuddha’s step.

Keen eyes, thin fingered hands

wrinkled cheeks and brow

long bodies

white-hair on his chest

the frayed rags that wrapped him

were in places torn

and brown in color.

white beard in curl and knots

and his locks were made of grace

and countenance calm.

‘Nidukaanani, One Without Sorrow, tell:

Who are you?  

Are you one attained enlightenment?

When could I obtain 

a composure and contentment 

such as yours?’

The beggar smiled

his smiles distilled from moonlight.

Those who speak are ignorant

those who know, are silent 

and you of these qualities

are a Pacceka Buddha

methinks.

The beggar smiled

as though endorsing 

in the language of silence.  

He spoke nought

but spoke all

felt Prabuddha.

He asked like a mendicant, sure

but his was in fact an offering

Prabuddha felt.  

And thus did the two recognize

and understood one another.

‘If only I too

could with him

take to the streets

there could be no greater joy,’

Prabuddha thought.

But the pure mind so much like a mirror 

could capture not any of this

and yet neither did it reject.

Took and yet did not keep.

The mind is of singular focus

when craving a song or image;

as such times it is pure

Lust then entwines with art  

and yet if art was elevated somewhat

in that degree does diminish lust.

Is not heightened appreciation a vessel

a craft that transports to the eternal verities? 

The cat purrs between feet

in the bliss of warmth

Prabuddha sleeps 

his feel unmoved,

ignoring discomfiture 

does not change position

fearing the cat

in fear may flee.  

The art lover

empowered to create 

empowered to feel 

will not suffer

art that is not soft,

is only touched

by art of the highest realm

and when this quality 

to the maximum is honed

he lets go

both creation and its appreciation.

‘Art is a silly, childish thing,

he then feels.

Art is a silly, childish thing,

and so is it abandoned.  

Thereafter he is but a vehicle of the aesthetic 

a treasure trove of the grandiose compassionate,

it is the ultimate yield of art

and it is a long journey.  

poem 'Prabuddha', an exercise that has the permission and blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera. 

Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI , VII, VIII,  IX, X , XI, XII, XIII,XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX, XX , XXI, XXII and XXIII can be found in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com.

Mornings Break

Early mornings have chosen paths
they begin the nowheres of memory
sweep across flood plains
ignore tree and creature
impatient for night-end
but pause to coil around questions
left-behind footprints
all over your doubts
gather like a pickpocket
and take ghost streets known to none but me
and deliver you
a baby i am terrified to touch
for fear of crumbling
in the parchment-break
of too much love.

Prabuddha XXIII

Rani soap fragranced

tap-water showered

deep red lipstick

fingernails and toenails reddened too

thickly powdered cheeks

bright and vividly colored sari

wrapped around her

out on to the lonely street

at dusk she ventures.

Where to, sister, pray tell!

‘Do you not see the multitude

thronging towards the carnival

following them am I

to gift as alms of a kind my flesh.

No, not so I too will attain enlightenment 

as per the doctrine of the paramitas,

but only to pray for a meal tomorrow

for the children starve

and the man is consumptive 

to them relief must I bring.’

Amma bud vaeva!

[Mother, may you attain Buddhahood!]

There were young men

long-haired and bearded 

with rich shirts tucked into pants

held by thick leather belts

arm in arm with girls

as young as she

into whose ears they poured

the sweet nothings of love.

Reclining in soft comfortable seats

in the glow of bulbs

filtered through multiplicity of color

with puckered lips

young and fresh

on the edge of a glass

or else from the bottle straight

through thin paper straws

they sucked in love.

It’s a riot of sound

the carnival grounds

runs round 

the merry-go-round  

heads and heads

they are everywhere.

They weren’t sad

not one of them

laughing joyously were they

danced into the grounds

gathered and sang

grotesquely masked

and yet

all gods, all divine

at one, at some moment in time

that they were,

all bodhisatvas 

marked for Sammaa Sambuddhahood.

The iron voice blurted 

cutting through laughter and cheers 

‘Hey, come one, come all,

let’s dance, let’s sing

for the time it is a-passing!” 

It was his voice

cut into a record

that he heard

aeons later

mind broken by anger.

Disenchanted he still was

when he left the carnival.

among the bushes dark he saw

a darkened couple,

and first glance said

two springs of love

gushing love’s sweetest lines.

‘No, Ranjani, no!

Please don’t cry.  

You’ll never understand

however many times I explain.

How can I marry you?

You would complain one day

you would say I ruined your life!’

He stood still

their words and sighs

brushing the ears of his heart

and cutting through 

laughter and cheers

the loudspeaker’s cacophony

their voices surfaced:

‘All property they pawned

my parents did,

just to educate me

and now thanks to me

they wallow in misery.’

‘Let us drink poison,

both of us,

together!’

And then he heard 

many, many voices

a thousand complaints

from a thousand mouths 

he heard

from all all over

the carnival grounds. 

‘My chest get tight

it does, Sir, at night.

I can't breathe then

I fear then 

that death is upon me.

And yet the doctor 

they say there’s nothing wrong

with me!’

‘I will hang myself

I will jump into a well

he was so different then

but now

such a cruel man he is!’

‘Look here boss,

sure, I steal,

I am a pickpocket.

There’s no joy

don’t get me wrong.’

‘Good sir, listen to my story!

My eldest daughter

she ran away

eloped with a vagrant

did she!’

‘Failed again,

but had I passed

it would have been so good

the promotion would be mine!’

‘I have to pay my rates

forty thousand this year

and once that’s done

I’d be finished!’

All these laments

from all corners of the carnival 

echoed like one single 

inalienable chorus

in his ears

and yet

blended into that chorus

was but a singular line:

‘let’s dance, let’s sing

for the time it is a-passing!’ 

Pitiful is life

empty and fruitless

devoid of meaning

‘Konu haaso kim aanando’ 

What laughter, what joy? [when all is burning]

*This is the twenty third part of the translation of Mahagama Sekera's classic narrative poem 'Prabuddha', an exercise that has the permission and blessings of the immediate family of Mahagama Sekera. 

Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI , VII, VIII,  IX, X , XI, XII, XIII,XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX, XX , XXI and XXII can be found in www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com.