A tribute

Miss Pearl Perera,
Pearl of the Ferguson Ocean
You were a mother to many a little coward,
With constant encouragement you pushed them forward
To the mischievous your tactics were great
Tolerating them all, you really changed their fate
To live sans tear, oh! How you taught us.
Still echo in my ears, your advices precious
The value of being kind and generous to all
You managed to drive home, though we were small
You spent your whole life to brighten our lives
Sacrificing your life for your students, oh yes!
You shared with us, your memories joyous,
Now we reap the harvest, being good mothers and wives
Short and smart, brave and bold,
Sweet but strict, you never grew old,
With the blessings of God may you live long!
With wealth and good health, may your life be one
lovely song!
Like a "Pearl" of our "School Crown" you made it shine
Hence pay you this little tribute of mine! Lorraine Dias (Nee Manchanayaka.) On 23 August, she celebrates her 85th birthday.

Don't ask for mud and wattle on the sides

Why do you stare, Mariaie, what do you see?
Oh, that new, enormous building over there!
Is it for *us* ? Do you joke, my dear,
Since when do you aspire, to a castle -in-the-air,
Mariaie?

Nay, for us, it's the thirty line-rooms in a row
And the single doorless latrine that we share.
The tea-bush where we're thus compelled to "go"
Leaking roofs, soot-blackened walls
And oozing floors.

See the sparkle of the lights - how they glow!
You've got to cook and your limbs *do* ache, I know!
But scramble up, look over there
Those verandahs! Tables, chairs! That's where they'll
sip their drinks
In the soft moon-glow.

Sevanoo is ill, I know it well.

The darkter hides the medicines; we can't pay.
The phlegm clogs his little chest,
We pray to God, we do our best
Rub some oil, boil pavatta, and pray again!

You and I both have to work if we're to eat.
We can only shut our minds to that leaking crche.
One line-room that, where Sevanoo will crawl
With the rest of the little babes-fourteen in all -
And ancient Letchumi nods by the crumbling wall.

The rafters creak with the weight of ragged cradles
The stench of the urine rises from the sacks
Where the babies suck at bottles half a-curdle
And the wind whistles in, in front, and out the back.

I know I said I'd tell the Dorai, yes I know.
The poor mites don't stand a chance in that filthy room
But the Peria Dorai now, he does not shout at us,
it's true,
But he treats me to his Inscrutable Look.

No funds for a new crche, nor tagarams,
for the rusty, leaking roof, he gravely says.
"Babies get wet?" His eye-lids flicker,
"No room for all?" his lips draw thinner
"Well, it's NOT provided for in the ES-TI-MATES!"

"And the most that I can do" he concedes,
Crossing his shapely knees, closing his eyes.
"Is to put up a temporary structure
Of manna grass and timber
But don't ask for mud and wattle on the sides". (Written in 1978) By Sakuntala Mohini Sachithanandan

Darkter - doctor Pavatta - a plant the parts of which are used in the treatment of phlegm ailments, also called Adathoda.

Here the poet paints a harsh reality and abject poverty in the plantation sector. For them, a decent shelter and basic amenities, most of us taken for granted, are luxuries even ill-afford to dream. The poet skilfully compares the abject poverty of the plantation worker with prosperity at arm's length. It is this gulf between poverty and prosperity which demarcates lush greenery of the hill country. The poet uses a down -to -earth language with some Tamil words typically reminiscent of the plantation workers.

- Indeewara Thilakarathne

Remi-niscence

It was his gait she noticed
And the tall erect frame
The tell tale signs of Advancing Age
Showed as he ambled along
The pate once with curly hair
Now bold with glistening sweat
The immaculate dress he once wore
Now threadbare visibly fading

Three score years and ten
She remembered his birthday
When as young lovers
They enjoyed a romantic tryst

Chocolates flowers and kisses
Long letters declaring love
Meetings arranged in haste
Against the wishes of parents

Whisked away to a distant land
The memories of a first love
Lingered for some time
Fading in an alien culture

Hope you remember me
She said to the ageing man
He looked at her with a smile
Showing no sign of recognition

Sorry aunty a young girl said
My father is suffering from amnesia
It is difficult for him to remember
Anything from the past -by Padmasiri de Silva

Here the poet skilfully recalls a poignant memory of a woman of her first love. After years in exile, her memories of the first love have faded away. However, in a chance encounter, she meets her former sweetheart and recognizes him by his gait. Time has devoured everything and has brought about change in lives. Now, the lover is old and suffers from amnesia. So, he could not recall the past and the poet uses a matter-of-fact language.

- Indeewara Thilakarathne

Repentance

The flame
shone then,
But
unburned ashes remain.
My
head is shining now.... -by Santhushti Ekanayake. Mahaweli National College of Education, Polgolla

In these short lines, the poet expresses eloquently about an incident that has virtually shattered her. Though the unburned ashes remain, the poet has cleared her mind. However, the title suggests otherwise. The poem is marked for its brevity and for the matter-of-fact langauge - Indeewara Thilakarathne