කවි ගී තනු සම

අසරන වූ කවියක් ඔබ සිත තුල

හඬනු ඇසෙයි නිල් නෙත් යුග බොඳ කර

ගී තනුවක් රැව්දෙයි මා හද බැඳ

ඔබ සුසුම් හෙලන, හද ගැහෙනා රිද්මයකට

අද සුභ දවසකි කවි රස විඳිනට

බලනු හිරු සඳු යුග, අහසේ බබලන දෙස

වළා රොදක් ගෙන හිරු සඳු පිදුමට

හමනා කල සුළඟක් - සිසිලෙන් ගත දවටන

කවි පද, ගී තනු, ඒ සුළඟට මුසු කර

ගයමු අපිත් කොවුලන් ගී පරදන

හිරු බැස ගිය කල සඳ තරු නිහඬව

සිහින ලොවින් බැස අසා සිටිනු ඇත

මන රඳවන, හද සනසන, ගත පිනවන
සුමියුරු ඒ ගී නද

Grand

With you, much of my past slips beyond the reach of living memory and history recede into a crystal ball... I lose a love which I never had to win or prove myself worthy of. Though not always unconditional, it was wilfully blind to my flaws and exultant like no other in the most modest of victories.

In you lies lifeless the greatest storyteller and moulder of character that I ever knew. Yet in me lives your narrative; that most intimate of stories which is intertwined with our collective past and shared ultimate destiny. Your gifts to us linger on and we are yet guided by your practical wisdom. I see the world through your eyes. Your strength inspires me still. Even your weaknesses challenge me to continue the relay of generations, as we run each lap, not towards perfection or pure light, but with courage; out of the shadows of history.

So rest in peace, knowing that in me and others who bear the mark of your flesh, you will breathe, speak and act in ways you may never have imagined. And I may yet be bound to your legacy by a golden thread, forevermore!

Broken Promises

A faint promise of spring smiles through the blinds.

The wind is less repelling though not yet warm enough to be embracing. It feels like Kandy in December and makes me nostalgic. Long forgotten memories compel me to split a spent out bamboo torch in the garage to make a kite, but I am dissuaded by a grown up and rational voice within… Because just before I left home, the weathergirl warned me that this flimsy promise of spring will be broken by mid afternoon. She is sure that there will be at least one more weekend of hail and rain to endure before the winds can clear out summer skies. Though the weather gods often move to contradict her, this time she is probably right, because clouds have taken over already.

Except, for a lone, but brave and determined bud on a naked twig that had decided spring has come, and it’s time to bloom.

~

For all those times...

7:49am

Because, for every cold, cloudy, rainy day or two in winter that dampens your spirit in the slightest, there is also a day that just rises up to meet you at your most cheerful and energetic; for every barren tree that shiver in the cold winds, having submitted months before to the impending midwinter’s gloom, there is one that defies the ice and frost, whose flowers even dare challenge the battered sun to shine brighter when they bloom; and for every dark cloud that threaten to rain and hail, in whose dark shadows we are tempted to rug up with a warm cup, there is one that is tinted by the rising sun and cast behind a rainbow, that invites us to step out and play...

 ~

Bubbles

There is something about a quiet early morning walk through the mist that whispers to us of secrets we have long ago let slip out of memory and thought. Trapped in a bubble that moves with us as we move, the 'immediate' seem pure and fathomable even as the air itself is haunted by grey shadows, and the world blurs beyond our near reaches.

If we are able to listen through the noise of rush-hour traffic, the mist may speak to us in muted voice, reminding us how we often ensnare ourselves in bubbles of our own perception or making. It is not only the opulent in a depraved society or the self-righteousness among the dammed that inhabit bubbles. We who cloak ourselves with the familiar - not always for the lack of empathy or generosity to connect and share with the unfamiliar, but for the lack of curiosity to cultivate an appreciation of the diversity around us - also seek refuge in an illusion of clarity in a world made obscure.

But as we walk, the mist gradually renders the invisible road ahead into view even as it dissolves the landmarks we have already passed into ever lighter shades of grey. Our memories may froth in a certain kind of nostalgia for what has passed out of sight.

To the extent that time is allowed to define the boundaries of our lives; we are tempted to choose friends by their proximity rather than trust or faithfulness. Yet, it is all part of the adventure of life that we often forsake the intimate and familiar in the hope of the glorious unknowns that an unknowable tomorrow may veil behind its haze for us. Perhaps it is part of the human condition that we are lured by the enigmatic and find just reward in the thrills of discovery. An insatiable desire to unravel that which seems mysterious is what often entice us to take the next risk, or step through the mist of time; sometimes for better and sometimes for worse.

~