Kunta Kinte to Barak Obama

It was a long journey that started in Gambia, West Africa,
A black boy named Kunta Kinte was brought to Maryland in chains,
Enslaved for many decades in the cotton fields
Worked, from sun-up, 'til sun-down,
Kunta Kinte alias Toby saw no freedom,
He was buried in an unmarked grave.

Kunta's generation lived in America,
Until they searched for a new identity and freedom,
Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation gave new hope,
The Buffalo Soldiers fought for freedom,
But the freedom was many miles away.

When Martin Luther King Jr said 'I have a dream',
The dream that cherished freedom and equality,
The dream that cherished justice and peace,
But couldn't live until the dream was fulfilled.

Barack Obama continued King's dream,
When he broke the racial barrier,
Martin Luther King said from his grave,
Thank you Almighty I am free at last.

Dr. Ruwan M. Jayatunge

Greed

Many a day, when the world was at peace,
A sudden bomb fell from among the trees.
And from this bomb came shards of greed,
Which the peaceful people never did need.
These shards of greed, pierced their hearts,
Bringing unwanted greed to this world.
Life became a nightmare; no one wanted to live.
With deaths, wars, jealousy and hate.
Greed! Is this what life is all about?
Greed! A plague that haunts the world.
Money, land, power are those all worth killing for?
Have the people forgotten about peace?
Is your greed for worldly things...
Greater than the joy that life really brings?

Raiha Ramzee

The lone pigeon and I

She lingered a moment there, beaming sweetly at me,
And mutely watched us converse,
A gleam of love, I was sure, I caught in her eyes,
Which, as it were, prompted many a romantic verse.

A huge temple tree, abloom, stood over us,
With a bark like a monitor's back;
Surmises and thoughts and my feelings were all diffuse,
Like scattered cards of a pack.

Scouring the lawn for grains, there were two little pigeons,
A couple of glad-hearted lovers;
I remembered how we, like them, ourselves had enjoyed,
Chatting with each other for hours.

She tarried there no longer than a few seconds,
But I deemed it was an age;
Then she rose, bade me adieu and slowly glided off
Like a Thespian exiting the stage.

Away flew one pigeon as she walked off,
Leaving the other bird alone;
I wondered if it felt the same pangs of parting as I,
With its sweet-mate gone!

Jayashantha Jayawardhana

A Venetian evening

Crimson sun goes down over "Canale Grande",
Golden sparkles dazzle on breezy Adriatic Sea,
Chilly purple mist disperse through old city canals,
Kind of a hush embraces the "Piazza San Marco".

Sound of a distant barcarole slightly spread in the air,
Gondoliers chant those soulful melodious boat songs,
Singing to the rhythm of wooden propellant oars,
Gliding smoothly through dusky mellow waterways.

Mysterious alleyways leading to deserted squares,
Beside "Ponte di Rialto" gather groups of masquers,
Wearing luxuriously designed costumes, grotesque,
Ready to masquerade disguising personal identities.

People gather in wayside candlelit cafes,
Taste vintage wine or drink hot cappuccinos,
Gentle evening rides down picturesque canals,
City lights glisten as the twilight slowly fades...

Hemakumar Nanayakkara

A Flower of Sanctity

Abode inhabited, a bed of muck and dirt,
Putrefying fermenting and stinking world,
Engulfed and entombed in entire darkness,
Nauseating and appalling by human standards.

Despite, you enthrall the human heart,
Purity of yours is what you caste,
Entangling from the bottom of sink,
Surrogating benthos, besieged to the brim,
Penetrating walls of encapsulating rot,
Emanating unblemished from mawkish pot.

Yet, you don't carry a spec of dirt,
Ever looking like, though, purified gold,
Glimpsed glistening from the gloomy cloud,
Appearing all of a sudden as if from heaven,
Dazzling luster, stroke, full spectrum,
Showering fragrance on the world hails from.

You make the environ ever so graceful,
Soothing and benevolent to eyes beheld,
Being cleansed of dirt, alluring to the eye,
Appeasing redolence purifies my psyche,
Not letting down your own surrounding,
Remain in harmony with where you're belonging.

Sacred and precious, deserves to treat,
And to be offered at Lord Buddha's feet,
So noble is your quality rhymed chime,
Makes you dieing to be on sacrosanct shrine,
A daunting lesson to the world insane,
Lotus, sans rhapsody, makes us feel tamed,

Jayatissa K. Liyanage

If I were a tree...

If I were a tree
Lush green all year round
I'd hustle my leaves replying to the wind...
Give shelter for birds who prune for food,
Little insects and water buds to quench their thirst.
Gifted I'll be to be visited by them
In the dew of the morning
Before the sun beams...
To see the rains trickle down
From my pointed leaves
The heavens wish us to intersperse...
First bathe and then quench the earth.
Green life.

Krishanthi Anandawansa