Gossamer Girl

There's light thieving in

street light, home-light and moon;

it's quiet here and cool

but I wish it would rain

blend-light further blurred

is guest, not thief

There's a feast downstairs

a quiet consumption

of demand and request

a chewing out with burst

and a resolution with smile

You in your infinities

I in my dust-speck

We in familiarity 

Gossamer of a kind 

A joy and a pleasure

Not to rally round 
for yet another scarecrow to make
but the the threshing floor 
of its birth to fertilize 
a joy and pleasure
surely for the straw




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

Faces

The river's face and mine
after a long, long time did meet

The river 
into my face peered 
scratched head with fingertips
and a sign of recognition sought,
I felt

Beloved,
having seen us
not separately
but together
a moment more tarried
took a turn and hid
the river did






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

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]