False innocence

We were sitting,
At a summerhut,
Arguing over university romances,
Chuckling at two lovers,
Passionately in love with each other,
At a nearby summer-hut,
And one guy began,
Cracking ribald jokes,
Pointing them out to us.
At once she chimed in,
Pointing me to him,
'Don't you spoil him, he's innocent!'
For a moment,
I fixed my gaze upon her eyes,
Gleaming with sympathetic affection,
And gauged she had meant it.
'Oh!' I burst into laughter....

But I thought later on,
Am I really innocent?
Or... at least... do I look so?
And remembered my candid mirror,
Which had never flattered me,
And concluded
'I'm not innocent; nor do I look so at least...'

Soon it dawned on me,
That she was one of many people,
Who had mistaken my reticence,
For innocence...

Jayashantha Jayawardhana

To serve our land

(A Recollection):

From the far silence of my palingstill,
Ascend that rhythmic beat and measured stride
In khaki combat creased drills,
The bawl, a leap and trigger-shot,
About that shell-scarr'd lone tree hill
Breathless, on battle-stomping ground.
Inspired leaders urging on,
So oft we'd scale those booted hours,
Suffer blind cloud burst, jungle tide,
Clammy in dank and bruised kit,
To serve our Land through dusk and dawn,
'Per Ardua Ad Astra' quest.
Now spectre spinwheels softly sweep that hill,
Where innocent rifles crack'd intent still.

Andrew M Dep

The Glorious Quran

I am the noblest book and the final of revelations,
Created by His Majesty unto extraordinary perfection,
Created to teach Mankind, the straightest directions,
To His Majesty's compassion and celestial dimentions

There was only one Holy pristine soul in all of creation,
That really pined for His Majesty with deepest of affection,
It was this Holy Prophet that gave me the grandest ovations,
For his soul ever hymed the praises of His Majesty's Adoration.

That sad lonely orphaned heart seeking His Majesty's compassion,
Was one blessed night met,by the greatest angel in all of creation,
To give divine lessons and make him the seal of Prophets for all nations,
And also to be the role model, for mankind to be of deepest devotions.

The divine light was the Holy Prophet for humanity then sunk in darkness,
Happily worshipping hundreds of demon idols,while dancing in nakedness,
Wailing female children, they buried in shame, cold blooded wickedness,
Superstitions with other sinful acts,'Drunken Arabia' committed shameless.

The noble and holy prophets divine light, penetrated the darkest of nights,
The Prophet was blessed, to put my light into most hearts of stony might,
Those Arab hearts of My Quranic Might, were in the Holy Prophet's sight,
A definite noble proof of His Majesty's compassion, guide and delight.

My words contain mysterious power, my words have rare wisdom,
My words have been tested and leads to His Majesty's Kingdom,
My words shall prevail over travails, and defeat every nation,
Until they truly understand the real purpose of my caution.

My words have times tested and proven secret treasures,
To provide you the holiest of saintly divine pleasures,
To His Majesty's palatial and celestial dimentions,
My Words will be your tickets for admission.
Right from wrong is surely my fame
The Holy Quran Is Certainly My Name.

Fareed Abdeen

The politics of the PB

You see the PB is different from CTB,
There's a complex politics to it.

The trick is to counter weight,
And push against being pushed.

Another trick is to suck your butt in,
And keep your boobs away from....,
The mafia of boob grabbers,
And butt from butt pinchers,
And Jacksons from behind.

And even the paparazzi!!!
Whose mini stealthy phone cameras,
Elude the intelligence of model-women.

'Sorry girl, lost your grip?
Then it's the middle row for you,
Chased by an unrelenting conductor.
(Where you hang like a monkey,
From the top most steel bar)
Too short to reach, well tough luck!'

During rush hour it's the law of the jungle,
When women and children are imperceptible,
But at noon men are perfect gentlemen.
In the private bus.

sp

Christmas joy

It's been some months since I last saw you my love.
I have no other than your picture in my heart that runs above.
Your voice is all I have now-not frequent as before.
Amidst the enemy's threshold you have aimed your gun at foe.
Fire sweet my true love; never catch a bullet in your heart.
For yours and mine being one now-one foe can pierce through both.
Dear God my wish this Christmas-please bring my sweet love back.
Home to his loved kindred and drop the barrel gun.

Krishanthi Anandawansa
 

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Amateur writers, today's page is all yours!

Dear readers,

Due to the huge backlog of entries and since Passionate Pen's priority being the readers and their contributions we decided to dedicate this weeks entire page to 'Amateur short Story' and the 'Amateur Poems'.

Please be patient and do not be discouraged if your contributions of gets delayed. Most of the poems which we received were rejected because they were too long. Please make an effort to limit your poems to less than thirty lines and short stories to less than 1,500 words.

Sajitha Prematunga