A wish

Don't you feel sorry,
when you see somebody hurts another soul,
or when you see a less fortunate,
walking alone despairingly?

Have you ever felt for yourself,
the warmth of your heart,
in the presence of such an eventuality,
or is your heart lifeless and as hard as a rock?

Don't let it be so,
Whenever you come across an unbearable cry,
let the warmth of your heart, spread over it,
show them that you are concerned and be near and dear to them.

It may not be a human being,
but may be an innocent creature.
A tiny ant fighting for his life in a bucketful of water,
or a hungry puppy, left behind, by the side of a lonely road.

Do not hasitate to kindle the kindness hidden somewhere in your heart,
Let you spare five minutes out of your valued time,
Let the desperate being to be reborn,
With the warmth of your blessed hands.

May all beings be free from pain!
May this earth be free from fear and cruelty!
May all beings be well and happy!
May all of us live in harmony and peace!

Sashini. E. Ranaweera.
 

The afternoon class

Sitting behind the teacher's table
The armchair is holding an afternoon class.
Pupils are the silent and attentive chairs,
Forward looking each with a desk in front.

The blackboard stands with an unrubbed note,
Written in white bold capitals which reads:
'To reach the aspired goals in learning,
Keep your attention undistracted and firm!'

Bandara Samarakoon.
 

Little pieces of nothings

Little pieces of nothings that I write
Words woven to tell stories from life
Once in a while I stumble on you
And I find my self immersed in love

You ask me why I write poetry
And I can not reply in one word or two
Just the way you want me to do

Little pieces of nothing I just write
It is where I find my sanity and my peace
I find my refuge in my poetry
And I rediscover my self in my own words

Yes, I still write little pieces of nothings
They are the stories that I tell from life

Nisansala Dharmasena.
 

The little boy's kite

Walking in my garden, when,
In front stood a little boy,
His precious flying little toy,
Dangling in a coconut palm
Was a colourful little kite.

Pulling at the string with all his might,
The string snapped and there it was,
Amidst the palms swaying,
Like a ballet dancer swishing
A strong gust of wind snapped,
The broken thread - it floated away,
The pretty kite never to stay.
The little boy walked away then,
Drooping his head with tears and sigh,
Hoping for another kite by and by

Mrs. Wimala de Zoysa.