A piece of the perahera

A coconut oil scent fills the air
Normally it bothers
But it's comfort here

The rustling crowds they watch and wait
Coaxed by the vendors that line the darkening street
The lights of the temple they add to the glow
The peaceful prayers of the ages
carried on the winds as they blow

Finally the whip crackers are rounding the bend
This then that I'm certain I'll watch till the end

The first thak-a-thak of the drums brings a majestic tone
A rhythm not to be placed but in a place of its own

Over and over in my head it repeats
Surely I might hear it in my dreams
Here come the dancers
Right on the beat

A twirling of colours
A pounding of feet
The elephants too seem to know the occasion
As they sway their trunks to and fro
to the crowd's elation

I look at the people in their rows and slews
All the time wondering if they feel as I do

The shoulders of the dancers
the blades look like mine
All at once I'm dancing with them
Not entirely in my mind

And as I stand on the balcony
Engulfed by the sight
I know in my heart
I'm a Sri Lankan tonight

Ellianne Yasmin Smith

The poet, a half-Sri Lankan, has a fresh look at the Kandy perehera. It was a magnificent scene that would etch in her mind in times to come. The poet has used a simple diction. Her sentiments are genuine and her kinship to Sri Lanka is skillfully expressed in the last stanza when she said, "I know in my heart, I am a Sri Lankan tonight'.

Death

The kerosene lamp,
A small bottle of pesticide,
Fitted with a tin ipia and a wicker,
Lit the living room,

Where the old man,
In the throes of death,
Lay on a torn grimy rush mat,
Spread over a limp coir mattress,
Upon a shakier bed,

Placed against the white-washed wall,
On the cracked cement-floor.

The burning wicker,
Fast sucked the shallow pool of oil,
And cast huge, ungainly shadows,
On the white-washed walls,
Which looked like the minions of death themselves.

The howling of invisible dogs in the streets,
Along with the ominous hooting of an invisible owl
Hung on the cold, nocturnal wind,
And brought home a dark presentiment,
Giving shudders to his wife, son and daughter,
Surrounding his bed.

He opened his eyes and coughed drily,
And the glow of the lamp suddenly brightened,

But it shrank into flicker,
As the dying man closed his eyes.

The pale light grew dimmer and dimmer still.
Early the next morning they sent for a hearse from the town.

Jayashantha Jayawardhana

The poet skillfully portrays the last moment of an old man on his death bed surrounded by kith and kin. The poet has used apt metaphors such as flickering lamp as fragile as the life of the dying man.

Scars of war

Scars
On dilapidated buildings
Gaping bullet holes
On chalk walls
Broken fences
That encloses no homes

Scars
On wayside tree trunks
Dug up roads
Booby trapped dirt tracks
No inch of soil left unturned
Parched up land
Burnt and scorched to hell
So nothing, nothing
Can have stories to tell

Scars
Of streams of spilt blood
Strewn upon rivers
Slowly washed to the seas
Blood of our children
Our sons and our daughters
Tears of our mothers'
That stains our conscience
For ever

And more than ever
The scars
Of those who still live
Having torn away from their lives
A kindred soul
To the ravages of a wasteful war
Who in the dead of the night
Hush an avenging curse
To a senseless war..........................

Zahra Hussainmiya

The poet portrays a gory picture of war which is now a thing of the past. The poet has used apt metaphors associated with war. The poem is noted for masterly portrayal of war.

Lullaby

Take me in your arms
and embrace me one more time
Whisper sweet stories of love
Lullaby me to sleep
Right in your heart

Bertholamuze Nisansala Dharmasena

The poet expresses the mindset of someone who is longing for love. The lullaby that she expects from a lover is a lullaby of love and care. The poem is noted for economy of expression.

Postman's lament

Carrying a sack full of letters,
I travel to the door steps every morning.
Letters for rich...
Letters for poor...
Smile with everyone I meet.
With letters, Telegrams and Greeting cards,
I convey messages from people,
To their relatives and friends who live,
And stay far away from their homes.
Though they are formal or informal,
I convey the messages they need.
I help to share their sorrows,
I help to share their thoughts,
I help to share their burdens,
With their relatives and friends they need.
But no one appreciates my service,
And dedication I render to needy people.
No one is there to share my thoughts,
No one is there to share my sorrows,
No one is there to share my burden,
As if how my loving spouse and kids heal my world.
But kids around the town suburb,
Share their thoughts whenever I meet.
And help to release the burden in my head,
As if my loving kids do the same at my home.

W.M.Sumithra Weerasekara

The poet drives home the fact that there is very little attention paid to the man who delivers letters. He is often ignored and the service is rarely appreciated. The poet says though the Postman may be an insignificant person in our lives, he too has his own life and family to care for.

Dream was over....

It was second of April
all eyes were on Mumbai
waiting until achieve greatest owner
in gentlamen's game

little struggle at the start,
but amidst immense pressure
Mahel got his half century
hold on stay till the end
said his mistress
just like a coach

oh! yes it was a brilliant innings
we all were delighted
with century of him and
spectacular finish

Malinga,
kept us saying hurray!!
got little master out
all thought game was ours
weren't we happy?
but
luck didn't stand with us
Dhoni's bat talked
it was the day of Indians
as Sanga said
better team won at last

so dream broken
but few tears with smiles
We are runners up
we are proud
as you take this little island to huge world

Umesh Moramudali

In the poem, the poet describes the defeat of Sri Lankan cricket team at the World Cup finals in India. The poet has used down-to-earth language. The poet expresses the popular sentiments of the masses.

A bus ride

A man with a clean suit
takes a bus and sits comfortably,
a charming smell of a perfume,
making him more gentleman.

Uncontrollable crowd in the bus,
make the bus conductor shout,
regular T-shirt with dirty breeches.

A profound turmoil between,
the clean suit vs. dirty breeches?

Imali Bandaranayake

The short poem conveys a profound message; contrasting the social gap among diverse classes. Though people may travel by the same bus or join the same journey of life, the life may not be equal for all.

Taxes and death

Certainties in life
Embracing us
With vigour
As a long lost selfish lover
Devouring us

We toil
For a year
Paying back with wages
Of four months
To build roads and bombs
To bomb innocent
In distant lands

We toil
All our lives
Paying at the end
One big price
By embracing
Unkind yet certain
Death

Not knowing
Where we will head

Ananda P. Dasanayake

The poem is an expression of despair at the monotonous life which revolves around earnings and taxes. In this particular instance, the taxes collected will be used to construct roads and to bomb innocents in distant lands. One of the harsh realities of diaspora is that people are caught up in a vicious cycle of earnings, taxation and spending where the personalities have been reduced to mere numbers and accounts.

The alternative

Happier I would be
Without hesitation;
If you were a mosquito
Sucking my blood
To satisfy your insatiable
Thirst and hunger
Than being a blue-fly
Kissing the corpse
Of my soul decomposing
In the pit of despair!

A.Jayalath. Basnagoda

The poet has used a simple diction to express a philosophical thought. The poem is noted for its brevity.