Punishment

(For the young Somalian woman who was convicted of adultery based on trumped up charges, and sentenced to death by a tribal court and later stoned to death in public.)

They were right,
The puritans,
The faithful servants of the God
Adultery was a crime,
To be swept from the face of the Earth,
At any cost
A canard was sufficient evidence,
To pass death sentence,
On an adulteress,
In a country,
Where no smoke arose without fire,
And where the Law could be customized
Truth, they maintained,
Needed little evidence to support it
After all, it wasn't too inhuman,
Only her face was mauled.
Even in the sultriest climes,
Stones would not melt,
Nor dissolve in the blood. Jayashantha Jayawardhana, Faculty of Business Studies and Finance, Wayamba University.

The poet questions the moral behind the punishment meted out to a woman who was charged with adultery. The poet sarcastically questions those who imposed the punishment. The poet uses a down -to- earth language with appropriate idiom to express the idea

- Indeewara.

Errors of Innocence

Our tender feathers
Still not strong
For, they need more time
To grow, to grow
With love and care;
Yet, desire to fly
From tree to tree,
High over the mountains,
To roam and wander
Singing loudly,
And to cry bitterly
Are but desires of childhood
Ignorance of the harm.
But for such trial and error;
Caging, pinioning,
Cornering,
Chasing out of nest,
And paralyzing our world;
Don't you crush
The desire of living
Of tender minds? (Dedicated to four school children who committed suicide) A.Jayalath Basnagoda Mahaweli National College of Edu. Polgolla.

This is a poem dedicated to four school children who committed suicide. Her poet looks at them in a sympathetic manner. It is indeed an innocence error which should not have caused death. Poet uses simple idioms and appropriate words to convey the idea of pity

- Indeewara Thilakarathne - Indeewara

Pontius Pilate washes his hands

For Kavindi "........... he took some water, washed his hands in front of the crowd and said, "I am not responsible for the death of this man! This is your doing!"

Matthew ch. 27 v. 24
Let's not wear blindfolds,
Conceal either reality or delusion
as we walk the common streets or
throng the public thoroughfares in our
day-to-day encounters, confronting the
minotaurs that emerge from the labyrinths
and mazes of our minds.
We lift the hems of our garments
so that they will not be smirched
by the offal and entrails scattered
by predator birds, nor do we tread
the spittle spewed by the hoi polloi
nor stain the soles of our feet as our
sandals squelch in the runnels of muddied
blood from the slaughterhouse of civilization.
We turn aside from sights which sully
our vision, avoid macabre spectacles
Unsightly to the eye, our thought left
inviolate and inviolable, distanced and unperturbed,
continue our masquerades, skirt with stealth
the checkpoints that interrogate our renegade
selves fleeing from the betrayal of treacherous
identities with incoherent words stammered out,
Falsities to save our souls.
Strip off the masks of two-faced Janus,
come out of the dark dust laden niches
of existence, those hiding places where we
cower through fear of self-discovery
and errant cowardice.
Think of the glass houses we inhabit,
turn away, shamefaced, putting aside
the lethal stone grasped in our hands
preparing to hurl them at our neighbour.
Let our tongues utter fearlessly words
that proclaim our collective guilt,
discard the camouflage of non-combatant
while others bear upon their tortured bodies
wounds and stripes while we remain
untouched by pain, our flesh, our skin
remain unflawed, unblemished.
Silence spells guilt.
Tongues clamped down.
Silence. Fear of reprisal.
Smothered, muzzled the confession
through fear of contumely or accusation.
That young heart quaked with fear,
the pulse raced, frantic before its
stoppage, the conduit vein carrying
the heated blood grew sluggish and stagnant.
Do we ever question why we deserve
to live and not the one we sent to her
early death?
Rabble voices raised importunate cries
"Crucify Him! Crucify Him."
Pontius Pilate washed his hands
to free himself from blame
sent Christ to be crucified upon the Cross,
as we, each one of us, still do, again and
yet again to those we think transgressors.

 -Jean Arasanayagam

The poet in eloquent terms question whether we are in a position to wash our hands. Specially in an Institute of education such as a school the authorities can hardly afford to wash their hands off when a fatal mistake occur as the parents cannot shirk their responsibility to look after their children. The school, without doubt, is the primary institution moulding the future citizens of the nation. With evocative idioms, the poet has described the tragedy unfelt at the institution. A fatal mistake may not be the end in itself, but a symptom of malice.

- Indeewara Thilakarathne