Montage POETRY

Song of truth

A school is a holy place
Where love and wisdom
Flower in the child

One happens to work in a school
With a serene landscape
Where the buds of humanity blossom
One fears whether the buds wither away
Before blooming

On this sacred planet
Do children deserve their place?
Where are they going?
Where they began?
They are beauty and innocence
Beyond expression!

In the school yard
Where rows of trees
Bear flowers of yellow
With slender petals

Now the soft breezes
Have the tune with the petals
They seems to dance
To the music unknown
Divine dance to the heavenly music!
Filled one's being with feeling sacred

Fallen petals
Utterly vulnerable
To the scorn of feet
Death of beauty

Life and death inseparable
Love of life
Love of truth
Paves the way to eternity

N. W. Widanagamage

The poem commences with apt description of a school where 'the love and wisdom flower' in a child. The poet expresses his anxiety over whether these 'buds of humanity' wither away before being 'blossomed'. By comparing the children to flowers, the poet has captured their innocence and beauty. The metaphor of flowers has been effectively used to stress the fragile nature of life and though the life may perish like fallen petals of flowers, love of life and love of truth would make it eternal.

Receptacle of death

It is the silent
Receptacle of death
With many hillocks
Laying majestically,
Grass grown cover
Flowers rigging out

The crosses they bear
And the requiescats of care
Emerge through the weeds
Remembrance breeds

All sleep in peace
Tempests never reach
No troubles, all at ease
When the breathing ceases

We too all be there
One day without breath
The harmony of death
We can equally share

Catherine Gunawardene

In this poem, the poet skilfully describes about the death and the silence which hides the death. In other words, the death hides itself in silence in the graveyard with chains of flowers and overgrown weeds. The graveyard is the resting place of all and all despite of numerous differences will lie at peace in the graveyard and all will share the harmony of death. Though the poet describes about death, the underlying message seems to be that people should share life instead of death.

Plant a tree

The constant campaign is to plant a tree;
Sure, it is a potent plea;
For trees of green foliage'
Are our source of healthy heritage

The use of trees is many in number,
Countless service they do render
Trees lend timber, for your cradle
Your cricket bats, lounges and ladle

From the blazing sun gives you shelter
A reigning sovereign, his glossy sceptre,
You fall trees, as if to avenge;
By becoming your coffin, how they revenge

Stout old trees, with knarred barks;
Whether they be, in forest or parks;
Flamboyant flowers as garland wear
A splendid sight to stand and stare

Glistening leaves of dappled green,
Barks that shine a silvery sheen,
Charming, in their mature splendour;
Venerable trees are timeless wonder

To plant a tree is a worthy notion
To prevent our own soil's erosion,
Bronzed leaves that fall so often
Blankets mother earth and moisten,

Fluttering in the gusty breeze,
A panorama of cherished dreams,
Palms and parks our emerald legacy,
To preserve the trees is our bounden duty

The splendid avenues of mahogany,
The majestic trees of rare ebony,
Grew -so life may be perfect,
Let us resolve to plant a tree

Nafeela Mukthar

The poem is a citizen's contribution to Presidential initiative on tree planting. In this narrative poem, poet describes the myriad uses of trees. In essence, what poet says is that tree would make life perfect.

Ehetuwewa

Closest town-Galgamuwa, is situated away from eight miles
The scenic beauty of the village is soothing
With a landscape of paddy fields and huge trees with the nests of the bird weaver
The name of this village is none other than 'Ehetuwewa'

The farmer is cultivating the field with the aid of a few buffaloes
Once the infant is lulled to sleep, it's where to his wife also goes
Music is provided by birds like a Royal Orchestra
To lead a happy rural life, what do you want extra?

To evade his father's anger, Prince Saliya at last
Reached the 'Mount Galgiriya' with Asokamala, the low caste beauty
A one mile away from the Ehetu-Tank
Love is a divine gift, doesn't care caste, creed or rank

When the sweet melody of "Pel-Kavi" reaches my ears
My heart rejoices yet my eyes are wetted
Whenever the breeze blows night and day
Pretty Nymph! how beautiful the way your blue draperies away?

Gods should look after such villages with utmost divine care
Blessing, Yala and Maha to bring about the best harvest,
Rice, curd and treacle would eradicate the poverty
Prosperity should prevail, over my motherland forever

W.P Somawardana

Enticed by the splendour of natural, the poet describes the village of Ehetuwewa and its environs. Though the poem borders on prose, the intention of the poet is clear. What the poet wants is to portray the beauty of life in a village like Ehetuwewa.

The heart of a solitary poet

My elders ask me, not to write
The real facts, in my day-to-day life
But how am I to release my mind?
In a way, it is a request for an emotional crime...

Through poems, I reveal my thoughts...
It fills my mind with great comforts...
Who else are there, to sooth my pains?
Other than you, my beloved poems ...

How can I to stop my heart?
From the birth...remains the beat...
How can I to stop the thought?
Of my mid, it jumps out....

Any way, I will continue with it ...
No matter whoever will stand against it..
Of Course, I know that, it's my right
To reveal the heart of a solitary poet...

W.K.S Inoka Weerasooriya

The narrator of this poem describes how she finds solace in expression her thoughts out through poetry. The narrator cannot stop writing poetry. The narrator argues that it is her right to reveal the "heart of a solitary poet".

Pride of Magampura

The wind blows across the mighty ocean
May carry the message world over
The story of a Golden Bay
Found in the 'Pearl of Indian Ocean'

Built with the Golden Sweat of it's Makers
And filled with the Hope of a Nation

Come along the Silk Road
To the Heaven on Earth
'Alice in wonder land '&
'Aladen's wonder Lamp'

Is a reality
At the sight of The Harbour
The Golden Bank of 'Magampura'

Tiny Sahabandu

The poet urges the 'wind' to carry the message that a sea port has been constructed in a 'Golden bay' in Magampura. The poet eloquently describes how the port would bring about prosperity and development to the land. The poet compares Magampura to a heaven on the Silk Road. The poet has used hyperbole to sate the hopes and aspirations of the masses.

The old mat

The pride of Sri Lanka; the versatile Sri Lankan drummer
The wealth of Sri Lanka; the versatile Sri Lankan dancer
The origin of indigenous rhythms
Where are you?

When you visit vain, haughty, arrogant people
You are given the old mat to sit on
In an isolated room, in their luxury mansions
Don't you deserve a better place dear artiste?

The creator, protector, guardian of cultural beauty
The country's priceless assets; the drummer and the dancer
Are you ever treated admiringly?
In a kind humane way?

Whenever there is a cultural pageant
Your service is of paramount importance
You are so indispensable
You lead any grand ceremony
Of royal reception, stately honours
Religious activities
Matrimonial functions, funerals
And endless events
You give life to the event
In brief, without your presence
The event becomes colourless and dull
But after the event
You come to your halt again
The old mat-in a damp corner

Lovers of music and dance
Swarm whenever you give your breathtaking performance
Many a camera clicks and flashes
And your graceful subtle ways are exhibited proudly
In a luxury parlours
Where tasteless people just glance and pass
They don't care
You are still on a mat -in a dull corner

You hypnotise your audience
Seeing their rapturous ecstasy
You rejoice at your heart humbly
Yet when event is over
The old mat awaits you in a corner
How cruel! How callous!
How do you feel dear artist?
Is your heart so big to forgive them?

Your precious, priceless music and dance, your sweat
All are exploited by heartless unseen 'agents', unscrupulous
Who have got least care and love for fine arts
And your hard-earned money goes elsewhere
The old mat is ready to receive you
Are you hurt?

The criminals evil doers, the buffoons too
Sometimes become people of importance
And they sit on high chairs
Disgracing your dignity
Oh, dear artiste
When does my country ever feel your vital identity?
And shatter the old values
And keep you on high chairs

D.H Shanthiratne

The poem is about the caste issue. Although the feudal social order has been dismantled, its remnant such as caste is still alive despite upward social mobility of men and women belonging to so called low caste. In Sri Lankan society, caste system functions underneath the social fabric and surface at importance social functions such as at weddings and funerals. The poet says that though the artist is respected at functions, the old mat in a damp corner awaits.