Shasthrawela

There was a time
and a text
the one will pass
the other stays
a time when idea was sown
and wisdom reaped
a time for book
and reflection
and book again;
there are times that pass
and passing times
but learning
is made of pink and blue
and bells
they toll
even in picture-capture silence.

[Inspired by the photography of Tharindu Amunugama]

Ode(s) to reflection

And it was recommended

by sages of long ago

from long-ago lands

in long-ago tongues

that silence reveals 

what clutter clouds

that true reflection

obtains from stillness

within stillness

within stillness still. 

[Inspired by the photography of Tharindu Amunugama] 

Omnipresence

Uncontained and uncontainable
knower of darkest secrets
residenced everywhere
and also
in
thought
heart
home
design,
there is no single
‘this and no other’
church
for the faithful
no extra-special day
in the all-year clasp
of true worship.

[Inspired by the photography of Tharindu Amunugama]

Alchemy

Pic by Tharindu Amunugama

And those alchemists

the honest ones

for whom metal was metal

and not plastic and bonds,

yes those ancient ones

and the new

the turn-to-gold

of labor

and by way of usurpation

legal and otherwise,

did they not have eyes

or mind

or heart

to see universe in sand-grain

the elemental transformation

the exercise of suzerainty by gold

and end of day

and the happy relinquishing to silver

come dawn?

[Inspired by the photography of Tharindu Amunugama]

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Patience

Pic by Tharindu Amunugama

Waiting is of many kinds

it is a platform vigil

for life-trains that may arrive

or have passed in eye-blink moment;

waiting is a lover’s tryst

a mendicant’s wish

and news made stale by night wind

and neglect;

waiting is a short text message

between life and life

a train that was missed

and a train going in the wrong direction,

waiting is an end game of hope

in hopeless longing

for the beloved

misnamed or mis-taken.

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Mirror walks

Pic by Tharindu Amunugama

Mirrors are walls

they stop

they force reflection

and those who come

they stay, stare and turn around

as though glass was armed

with cut-glass prohibition;

they don’t invite,

don’t say ‘walk in’

don’t say ‘explore’

don’t say ehi-passiko

but this water-glass  landscape

of grass and grass-reverse

of branches that graze

or dip into water

and upturned hills,

like an embroidery-reverse

disarms;

we could drown in our mirror-waters

we could suffer cut-glass scrutiny:

there are no shortcuts to the other side. 

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