Fawning

And if tails we had


by now


just by wagging


without pause


they’d have fallen off


for sure.






[Translated by way of tribute to our late friend and poet Indika Gunawardena. Original below]










නිවටකම






නැටි


තිබුණනං


අපට






වනල


වනලම


කැඩිල


මෙලහට

Love has no specific shape

There was a time
when love was you
and you alone
love’s fragrance
it’s exquisite nature
and its form divine 
was you 

and you alone…

She arrived one day
my mind discerned 
murmured with love
and safely in heart settled…

Thereafter 
she alone was love
love’s fragrance
it’s exquisite nature
and its form divine 

But I
will not forever remain
for
love
it has no specific shape

*This translation was done (among others) as a tribute to our dear friend and poet, the late Indika Gunawardena.  Original given below:

ප්‍රේමයට නියත හැඩයක් නැත 

ප්‍රේමය  
ඔබම වූ යුගයක් විය 
ප්‍රේමයේ සුවඳ ද 
එහි ඇති මහා ගුණය ද 
දිව්‍යමය හැඩය ද 
ඔබම වූ යුගයක් විය...

එක් දිනක් ඇය පැමිණ 
මගේ හිත දැන හැඳින 
ප්‍රේමයෙන් මුමුණමින 
හදේ සුරැකිව රැඳින...

ඉනික්බිති 
ප්‍රේමය ඇයම විය 
ප්‍රේමයේ සුවඳ ද 
එහි ඇති මහා ගුණය ද 
දිව්‍යමය හැඩය ද 
මුළුමනින් ඇයම  විය...

නමුදු මම 
සදාකල් මෙහිම නොරැඳෙනු ඇත 
මන්ද යත් 
ප්‍රේමයට නියත හැඩයක් නැත... 

Read Also:

Residual love keeps filling our skies

ප්‍රේමයේ ඉතිරිය අප සතු වනු ඇත

Objecting to the system*

by Indika Gunawardena

A spider am I

spinning the web

in a different weave

Unconcerned of victim

but enamoured with beauty alone 

and for this reason

dying young

No regrets though

none at all

of untimely death

a spider am I

spinning the web

in a different weave

ORIGINAL:

සිස්ටම් එකට එරෙහිව 

මකුළු දැල 

වෙනස් විදියට වියන 

මකුළුවෙක් වෙමි මම 

එහි සොඳුරු බව ම මිස 

එහි රැඳෙන 

ගොදුරු ගැන නොසිතන එහෙයින්ම 

අකාලේ මිය යන 

ඒ නමුදු නොතැවෙමින් 

සොඳුරු මරණය ගැන 

මකුළු දැල 

වෙනස් විදියට වියන

 මකුළුවෙක් වෙමි මම... 

*This translation was done (among others) as a tribute to our dear friend and poet, the late Indika Gunawardena

Read Also:

Residual love keeps filling our skies

ප්‍රේමයේ ඉතිරිය අප සතු වනු ඇත

Ode to projectiles

I am thinking of projectiles:

the toss of a rock and a teargas canister

multiple arcs of a stone bouncing on water

the throw from the bounday

accusation in court

a token of love into a trashcan 

as an orchestra goes silent

a prayer for a child unconscious 

a shooting star disappearing into target

color-throw from one end of sky to the other

and a thought, a plea and a voice

moving across the uneven earth

and through other trajectories 

coming to rest on a singular card 

that says ‘heart-locked’ 

and concludes ‘yours’ 
but perhaps 

not just mine.   

Earth of the salt

Metaphor for flavor

belonging and goodness,

enricher of idiom and language,

symbol of political stance,

issue of elemental intercourse,

token of a kitchen’s viability:

salt.

It does not come from sea,

not from play of sun on water,

salt:

it does not arrive,

it is made.

Salt:

It has a synonym

here in Puttalam. 

[first published in 'The Nation,' July 30, 2006]

Lost and found in dimensionality

Dimensions 

without name or number

or named and numbered

but in another tongue

polarities and marmalade

benumbing ascents and descents

to one unable to fly

and yet with sole so scorched 

that feet resist gravity 

lyrics and paint 

beads that charm

cards stacked and read 

and illegible,

all mesmerizing artifacts

makes for silence

across dimensions 

and poverties 
priceless

The poem addressed by a tree to its flowers

It appears upon inspection

that a few more flowers

are due to blossem

therefore

if there are any flowers

that would voluntary wilt

raise hands just once 

before the wind arrives

[translation of "ගසක් තම මල් අමතා කී කවිය" from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" (The next wine) by Ruwan Bandujeewa]