Our Mother*

She's taller now:

too tall to hold 

to cuddle too old; 

queen you were

and she princess

then as now, 

and you

are as you were

in your distance and proximity

words and words not said;

your children, all of them,

are safe

in a cradling that endures

the mortality of passing.

*On behalf of all her children

The conspiracy of night

Life and light in synonymity:

one yields and is also made of the other

but involuntary glance

through random windows 

gives moon-wires 

bent by wind

and blushed by rain

conspiring with ardent trees

and pliant foliage.  

We can paint it

transliterate 

or just breathe it all

and tell our hearts,

“open now 

the beloved has arrived’

The most ancient love song

There are times
when I am visited
by flowers;
bouquets,
with a florist's tag:
deepest sympathies.
My voice is too weak to say,
'not yet,
although her heart has died for me,
mine has not, for her'

[From the collection 'Some texts are made of leaves']

A ship without anchor

“For a canoe that comes to pick flowers 

to be with bullets riddled

in the middle of a reservoir

let license be granted to a lotus

among red petals a pistol to conceal.

“Instead of bringing forth separately

for common internment 

let us decree that the ocean 

must henceforth construct a plain

for a river another river to meet 

face to face.”

“Alright friend,

but tell me

of what use is the proximate sound of a lighthouse 

for a ship that has its anchor lost?” 

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

The poet’s curse*

It must be an unwritten love

or a love without words

something between verse and verse 

a teasing ethereality 

an absence or a longed-for 

too precious for the vulgarity of form

or description;

yes, poets who write about love

may not have it

but are nevertheless loved —

for theirs is the language of belonging

not ownership,

in the feudalism of romance

they care not for deed

but tenuriality 

— even in passing —

is land enough for love.

This they know.  

*”It is a poet's curse to be able to write about love but not have it…”

Even the Menik Ganga peed*

Two hundred breasts

when by two divided, one hundred women

the feast was splendid indeed

even the Menik Ganga** fell incontinent upon its shores

Having removed a hundred jewelled girdles, brasiers, pearl necklaces and earrings 

The mango was cut, slice by slice, even as the Goddess Pattini residence held

Even Manamperi*** peeked out hearing the whistles and joyous cheers

Submerged was the Vedahiti Kanda with the yolk of peacock eggs

Two hundred smoldering eyes

when by two divided, one hundred women

the feast was splendid indeed

even the Menik Ganga** fell incontinent upon its shores

[translation of "මැණික් ගඟටත් ඉවුරේ චූ යයි" from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" (The next wine) by Ruwan Bandujeewa]

*A politician threw a party to celebrate sexually abusing a hundred women — news item

** Literally, ‘River of Jewels’ which, for many Sri Lankans is the holiest river in the island, and which falls into the sea in the Southern Province, the ‘territory’ of the said politician

***Reference to Premawathi Manamperi, beauty queen of Kataragama, abducted, raped and killed by those tasked to put down an insurrection

Kundalakesi

Lifted in coiffered arrangement -- cloth wrapped tight
Princess who with red buneela petals the floor bedecked
Circled thrice in homage -- the bed where Sattuka lay
Kundalakesi of a machete's seven blows 

Grabs necklaces does Sattuka -- peddles weed does Sattuka
Law enforcement does visit the humble hut now and again
Princess who drew from Sattaka -- the whiplash sting
Flying to Welikada with a packet of rice armed 

Gamble he does -- brothels frequents too Sattaka
Princess who never complained until now
Who from the bed in consternation fell 
At the little girl's plaintive cry 'No, Thaatthe, No'

Circled thrice in homage -- the bed where Sattuka lay
Kundalakesi of a machete's seven blows 



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