While you were gone….

While you were gone we stuck flowers in our hair and filled socks with sand — FB post by Kalani Kumarasinghe

Socks with sand and balloons with water

flowers in hair and shadows from petrified rocks

ashes that will fight to differentiate 

and dust that dances, sings and settles down

Laughter filtered from overnight rain

frowns banished to adultness unwished

floating scoops of ice-cream

find cones called forth by a clap of hands

policemen on roller-blades 

chase pedestrian crossings 

freed from the tyranny of tar

and the weariness of feet

was that a clarinet going higher than the highest tree

was it a squirrel that drew the curtains

was it the monsoon that’s curled in a mangosteen

and why couldn’t the avocado decide if it’s vegetable or fruit?

someone stuck flowers somewhere 

someone filled the balloons

someone alarmed an alarm clock

and a clothes line asked for tea

Do you hear the sound of that laughter?

Bus goes over precipice; eight including the driver dead, 29 seriously injured — News Item

“There was no mist at the time. I was in the front part of the bus.  There were no vehicles coming from the opposite direction, but the driver for no apparent reason suddenly turned the bus towards the precipice”  — a survivor

With a shaking left hand

Nandasena

driver of sixty three dash seventeen fifteen

the day’s first gear fell

giving out a gora-gora sound

the bus came out of the depot

and began climbing the mountains

Each time he checked the road

from the side glass on the right 

he only saw his wife

whose three month’s almsgiving

was done two days before

From the rear view mirror

frequently peeped

his little boy

who drew 

Thaththa’s bus

again and again

The echo of the horn

the bell that rant near his ear

he didn’t hear

his wife’s voice came through clear

“Further up near a bend

there’s been an earth-slip

I will warn you Nande

when you get closer

What did you have for dinner

and what did our son draw yesterday

and the little girl Nande

can she now plait her hair all on her own

In the midst of a ring of mountains filled with tears

upon the grass on that yonder slope 

there’s one singular place still Nande

where we can laugh

Can you hear the sound of that laughter….”

[translation of "ඇහෙනවද ඒ සිනා සද්දේ " from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" by Ruwan Bandujeewa]