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Sunday, 16 August 2009

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She came in the early hours of the dawn,
To sing to me her morning song,
Prabha geet,
It is not meet that she should call,
At such an early hour in the morn,
Disturbing me in my sleep,
I hence would'nt suffer her to sing,
Fain did she go away with the song
Un-sung.


She came in the mid-summer noon,
In the scorching sun,
With a pitcher of water, flower scented,
Balancing upon her head,
To bathe me into coolness,
When I was engaged in my creative work,
I was wexed for her interruption,
I turned her away with a reprimand,
She went away unconcerned,
With the water gargling,
At the neck of her pitcher.


She came at the time,
of the gathering dusk,
With an earthen lamp,
To lighten my chamber,
When it was not plunged,
Into full obscurity,
I briefed her the futility,
Of a lamp before full darkness,
And bade her to take away
Her lamp,
She ambled away seemingly,
With a twinge of pain in her heart,
With her lamp unlit.


It is past mid-night,
I remain awake with sleep deluding me,
Forlorn, disconsolate, pervaded by darkness,
Needing her song to soothe me,
Her water to cool me,
Her lamp to lighten the chamber.


But she is far far away,
And never ever would return.

Kamal Premadasa, - Mattegoda HS.


Agony of train journey

The train I travel,
At early dawn,
Late not often,
And takes its ride,
At usual hour.


How can I believe my eyes,
Such a load from all four corners?
Struggling for a seat,
As they get in.


What a shame, the so-called Gentle-men,
Rarely a chance give for a lady.


Many closing their eyes seated,
As if in deep slumber,
Doesn't it flash my memory back,
To a sleeping car in distant trains?


The silly talks of noisy gangs,
And the giggles never ending,
Would never ever be giving,
A rest to my ears.


A smiling face hardly I find,
No exchange of friendly words,
Make me think of their hectic life,
Or I know it not
If it's the real agony of 'Train Journey'?

Harshi Wijesinghe,- St. Mary's College,Veyangoda.


Bottle lamp

Sun vanished
Light came
Not powerful to brighten the world
But only my room
That is the Bottle Lamp
Which helped to eliminate the room's darkness.


And brighten my life,
With the studies,
From its simple light.

R.C.S. Lenora


Polkichcha the magpie

 
He is the little bird always last to bed,
And first to greet us at dawn when sun a fiery red,
He is also Lanka's best known crooner,
Making all other fliers a poor loser.


He is the 'Polkichcha' the black and white flyer,
Lanka's nightingale, the sweet little cryer,
This the 'Magpie' a frolicking little bird,
And his melodious trill can often be heard.


One for sorrow, two for joy,
so the romantics say,
Ten or one, he is a joy tell you ever I may,
TV antenna is the pinnacle to reach his crescendo,
His lighter coloured lady listens to him with much adore.


Bird, your melody is a balm to a troubled mind,
May there be more and more of your singing kind,
Each morning I wake up to sweet notes of your song,
Dear little bird, my firm wish you live ever long.


Mahendra Samarasinghe


 A soldier speaks

Hold your tongue,
Unruly comments of you hypocrite soul,
Doubtless you do not feel,
The true spirit of soldier,
Truth you said, I was off hand then,
If you knew how I ached for the wailing motherland,
If you knew how I wept to see the blazing land on fire,
If you knew how I dared not to see my country divided,
You could not wag your tongue,
Like a panting wolf of a defeated game,
Misconceptualizing the soldier.


The tug in my heart tightened,
When the ruthless dragon opened its jaws,
To set my land on fire,
The blood stained sea,
The smouldering ashes of the parched earth,
Spoke to my conscience,
Called me for the duty....
duty of a true son of the motherland,
Thus I joined the infantry,
For me motherland first.


Cynical of you - never free,
Fettered are you of selfish thoughts,
To see and hear the truth,
I feared not but marched forward,
And risked my life and limb,
Ready for the supreme sacrifice,
Saved those trapped and cried for life,
Victimized and agonized,
I asked not of the creed or caste,
Lent my arms and saved the flag,
Thus I did my part and paid the due,
For me motherland first.


Mend your ways - rigid and false,
Blinded are you to the noble sacrifice,
I ask of you,
When I die for my land someday,
Bury me in the womb of my united land,
Offer a crown of poppy the flower of valour - to cover the tomb,
You breathe freely the freshness of freedom regained,
Thus I'm honoured in my death by you,
For me motherland first.

Sandhya Fernando

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