මැයි දිනය අදයි

වැරදීමක් ද? නැත!
අද,
බක් මස විසි හය වැනි දා
අදයි මැයි දිනය
අද මෙන් ම
දුරුතු මස පළවැනිදා ද
උඳුවප් මස තිස් එක් වැනි දා ද
ඒ අතර සෑම දිනයක් ම
මැයි දිනය වේ!
ටජ්මහල සාදා නිම කලේ ද
පිරමීඩ මෙන්ම රුවන්වලිය ද
ශාන්ත පීතර ගේ බැසිලිකාවද
මැයි දිනයක ම නිම විය;
වෙල්ලස්සේ සියදහසක් වැව් අමුණු ද
න්‍යෂ්ටික බලාගාර ද
මල්ටි බැරල් තුවක්කු ද
පළමු ඇනයේ සිට
අලවියෙන් පසු සේවය දක්වා ද
රක්ෂණ අළවියද
නීත්‍යානුකූල ව සාක්කුවට විදීමද
හදවත් පැහැරීම් ද
රැවුම් ගෙරවිලි තැවරුණු සමච්චලයද
රත් වූ වද රතු නොවන
දිනයක් වසරක් තත්පරයක්
නමක් ගමක් නොමැති නිශ්චිත
එහෙත් මැයි දින වලටම අනන්‍යය --
මැයි දිනය අදයි
"හාන පෝරු ගාන
වී වපුරන වෙල් යායක
සටන් පාඨ වැඩ වර්ජන
කම්හල් දැති රෝද අතර
උදේ සවස වැඩට යනෙන කෝච්චියක"
ශ්‍රමයේ ඵලය
පල පල දෙන
මැයි දිනය අදයි
වැරදීමක් නොවේ මෙය.

Thus spake god and the devil

And one fine day

at twilight

under a threshold 

drenched in primordial spray
neither wet nor dry 
a chronic schizophrenic 

half asleep and half awake

tossed a coin:

on one side it said 'good'

and on the other, 'evil'

and the I 

that turned into I and I

a sacred covenant signed.

'We shall be one or the other

and we shall in duality

reinforce 

this love,' said I

and I added, 'and this hate';

'yes,' I replied 

'in the pot-kettle game 

shall I affirm myself'.

And I sealed it with a kiss:

'and thus shall we thrive

through sickness and health

good times and bad,

richer or poorer,

for better or wose,

to love and to honor

forever and ever

amen!'

Meaning

What's a hundred or more kilometers
for a thought that's gone around the world
and visited all corners in a few minutes?
What's half an hour or more in a traffic jam
for one stuck at a 'Not Welcome' sign?
What's forever for
for a moment that has passed
from her memory?
What's a soiled shirt and unkempt hair
in a body housing a despoiled heart?

The undefined

The undefined should be breathed in
but we are people marked by word

and with words I trace
the unimaginable
and I call upon fraternal sensibilities
and ask:
what was that fragrance
that texture of pause and animation
the flavor of cosmology and divinity
the music of something basic
something oceanic
the cell-form original
of our generation and regeneration,
our evolution and depreciation;
there must be a name for you
but I don't know it
and may never know,
but what's name and definition
neatness of capture
in things that are too soft
for word-framing,
I tell myself
perhaps for consolation
or for clarity.

Divinity of Wetness

Through monsoonal bludgeon 

free of elemental encumbrance 

an apparition glides

over broken cities

and abandoned protocol

crosses the blood-line of convention,

papyric fragility 

that can with a word

into heart-dust turn

or with a word

become flesh 

in the timeless narrative

of creation:

love is god.

Illusions

There is nothing original

nothing un-cut

no rough diamonds

just gatherings:

songs others have heard

places oft-visited

books re-read

leaves, grass and waterlilies  

tree lines and shade

sun drops and burns

immemorial hurts

and momentary grasps

common across continents

and centuries;

all things important 

have come to pass

all wisdom catalogued,

we just chance upon old stones

and cut old fruit

we delight as others have

weep over eternal verities

with tears thought to be virginal,

the metaphysical in cell and bone

prick the voodoo dolls 

of our sensibilities 

we dance and collapse: 

'I was the first'

or 'I will be the last'

and with such convictions 

we clothe the lie

and sometimes

with poetry

quietly dab our wounds.

Ode to Fingers

They were made for keyboards

but i didn't know that

not for years;

back in the day

i thought it was for eating

for transferring ink 

from pen to paper

holding tangible things

and to clutch at straws;

then I was convinced

that the mind and heart

had them too

and that's how dreams were caught

and translated;

but now

these keyboard agitators 

they seem destined

to run through hair

they can never touch.