A Soldier marches towards the setting sun
His short hair firmly gripping a slanted beret
Turning his head away from the path ahead
Towards another, at a single command
Yet his feet carry him onwards to destiny
Holding the dead metal of fire bolts
Close to a heart that is full of passion
He grips death with the same hands
That once cuddled the innocence of new life
The camouflage cannot hide
His love for the land and its people
And the future of his own children
That he has vowed to protect with his life
A nation sleeps in blissful ignorance
As the land drips with blood of her children
Neither the people nor their leaders know
That liberty has kidnapped innocent lives
And held them hostage for a ransom of freedom
Justice is imprisoned behind bars of betrayal
While dignity cries out to a host of deaf ears
Battles still rage in entrenched minds
Their dreams bordered by battlefields
Thoughts haunted by memories
Full of images from the depth of human cruelty
Ideology had extorted a heavy price
Even from the liberated minds
The powerful and the helpless join together
Like a holy union of love and hatred
The righteous and the immoral hold hands
As they march for peace with even steps
Amidst the chaos and struggles of daily life
Their's is an unceasing battle to comprehend
That war and peace are merely instruments
Of the many manifestations of human nature
Both bearing stories about the human capacity
For love and violence beyond description
The soldier returns home to his family
A hero, draped in a revered flag
His life is handed over to the loving memory
Of a weeping and forgetful nation
As another marches towards the setting sun
His short hair firmly gripping a slanted beret
With his head turned away from his destination
And his hands gripping a helpless gun
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Apprehensions
I am forced by a heart’s longing
To fill the clear blue skies
With rhymes of a distant angel
And her dark piercing eyes
Yet, I cannot yield to cravings
In fear that I may expose
The deepest of all my secrets
In the verse that I compose
To fill the clear blue skies
With rhymes of a distant angel
And her dark piercing eyes
Yet, I cannot yield to cravings
In fear that I may expose
The deepest of all my secrets
In the verse that I compose
Friday, September 22, 2006
Appreciation
This is a tribute to my first teacher at Trinity College, for all that she has done, who she was and what she stood for. May her soul find peaceful rest with God.
Twenty years have whistled past since the first day I walked into Trinity. Hardly six years old then, I have very few memories of that first fretful year in school. Apart from the fact that I was in Mrs. Weerakoon's class, there are a few incidents that I can recall in great detail. Still the reason why those memories and their little lessons have been engraved so deeply in my mind so clearly does not amaze me anymore. When I left Trinity fourteen years later, Mrs. Weerakoon had finished her Earthly race. I missed her very much, for as she had greeted me with that memorable warm smile on that very first day in school, she has been an inspiration ever since.
As many six year olds would be, my parents and grand parents were the only people I was intimately attached to. However, as embarrassing as it was then, I remember running up to her on many occasions, calling out "Ammi" or "Achchi". That is probably how close she was to me and possibly to all those who were entrusted to her care for the brief first year in school, throughout the decades that she served Trinity with love and devotion.
My family and I still remember the day she visited me at home, when I had fractured my leg in a car accident. For all such memories we will for ever be grateful. The memory of Mrs. Weerakoon and the way she touched their lives is still alive in many generations of Trinitians. The kindness and sincerity with which she embraced them have since found its place among the many legends that echo in the halls of Trinity.
Her passing away came as a great shock even to those who knew what she was going through. Her last message to all Trinitians was read out by her daughter a few months later at a memorial service held in the College Chapel. It was a request for "Every Trinitian to give back Trinity, at least a fraction of what Trinity had given them" These words have mingled with the beat of our hearts ever since and made us realize that when great men and women are lost, their legends inspire others to rise up and carry the world forward. The legend of Mrs. Cynthia Weerakoon will live on and inspire many.
When angels walk among us
Without the floor touching their heel
And when they stoop to bless us
So gently that we don't feel
We often fail to realize
That we still feel their loving care
Even after they have left our midst
Like the light of a long dead star
Twenty years have whistled past since the first day I walked into Trinity. Hardly six years old then, I have very few memories of that first fretful year in school. Apart from the fact that I was in Mrs. Weerakoon's class, there are a few incidents that I can recall in great detail. Still the reason why those memories and their little lessons have been engraved so deeply in my mind so clearly does not amaze me anymore. When I left Trinity fourteen years later, Mrs. Weerakoon had finished her Earthly race. I missed her very much, for as she had greeted me with that memorable warm smile on that very first day in school, she has been an inspiration ever since.
As many six year olds would be, my parents and grand parents were the only people I was intimately attached to. However, as embarrassing as it was then, I remember running up to her on many occasions, calling out "Ammi" or "Achchi". That is probably how close she was to me and possibly to all those who were entrusted to her care for the brief first year in school, throughout the decades that she served Trinity with love and devotion.
My family and I still remember the day she visited me at home, when I had fractured my leg in a car accident. For all such memories we will for ever be grateful. The memory of Mrs. Weerakoon and the way she touched their lives is still alive in many generations of Trinitians. The kindness and sincerity with which she embraced them have since found its place among the many legends that echo in the halls of Trinity.
Her passing away came as a great shock even to those who knew what she was going through. Her last message to all Trinitians was read out by her daughter a few months later at a memorial service held in the College Chapel. It was a request for "Every Trinitian to give back Trinity, at least a fraction of what Trinity had given them" These words have mingled with the beat of our hearts ever since and made us realize that when great men and women are lost, their legends inspire others to rise up and carry the world forward. The legend of Mrs. Cynthia Weerakoon will live on and inspire many.
When angels walk among us
Without the floor touching their heel
And when they stoop to bless us
So gently that we don't feel
We often fail to realize
That we still feel their loving care
Even after they have left our midst
Like the light of a long dead star
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Anthem
When I roam the great mountains
Above a silent lake
Memories of a wondrous boyhood
From their silent rest awake
I walk through granite pillars
And sit by the quiet pond
To live through that old enchantment
And unyielding bond
Chorus:
The wind blows silent voices
Of old friends I cannot see
But the heart of a youthful lion
Still beats in me
I learnt from ageless traditions
To tread the rightful way
And lessons of timeless meaning
In the fields of joyous play
My mind, body and spirit
Will sing this unending song
Of memories confined in the past
And legends bygone
I crossed the great wide oceans
On changing winds of time
Her honour I held within me
Preserved in a gist sublime
The continents shall echo
With roars and zealous rhymes
When I look with cheerful yearning
To the end of times
Above a silent lake
Memories of a wondrous boyhood
From their silent rest awake
I walk through granite pillars
And sit by the quiet pond
To live through that old enchantment
And unyielding bond
Chorus:
The wind blows silent voices
Of old friends I cannot see
But the heart of a youthful lion
Still beats in me
I learnt from ageless traditions
To tread the rightful way
And lessons of timeless meaning
In the fields of joyous play
My mind, body and spirit
Will sing this unending song
Of memories confined in the past
And legends bygone
I crossed the great wide oceans
On changing winds of time
Her honour I held within me
Preserved in a gist sublime
The continents shall echo
With roars and zealous rhymes
When I look with cheerful yearning
To the end of times
Monday, September 18, 2006
On a dreamy night
A poet writes the song of his heart
Among the stars, on a dreamy night
Sculpting his deepest desires
The most private of his emotions
And his secret thoughts
With mere words
Then he blows them away
To the wind
Fragments of his soul
Floating like red autumn leaves
They lie naked on the ground
Ignored by passers by
Trampled by strangers
Decaying into the ground
Giving back to mother Earth
What was borrowed from her memories
Paying back the due price
Of his sweetest dreams
The winter’s cold shall preserve their life
Until they are picked up with a gentle touch
By their rightful heir
Her curls will be adorned by buds of spring
The warmth of her heart
Will melt the mountain snow
In those bright eyes
She’ll carry the summer sun
That will shine in the sparkling streams
And beam a warm smile
On a little corner of the world
When she traces the path of autumn leaves
Along the stars, to that dreamy night
Among the stars, on a dreamy night
Sculpting his deepest desires
The most private of his emotions
And his secret thoughts
With mere words
Then he blows them away
To the wind
Fragments of his soul
Floating like red autumn leaves
They lie naked on the ground
Ignored by passers by
Trampled by strangers
Decaying into the ground
Giving back to mother Earth
What was borrowed from her memories
Paying back the due price
Of his sweetest dreams
The winter’s cold shall preserve their life
Until they are picked up with a gentle touch
By their rightful heir
Her curls will be adorned by buds of spring
The warmth of her heart
Will melt the mountain snow
In those bright eyes
She’ll carry the summer sun
That will shine in the sparkling streams
And beam a warm smile
On a little corner of the world
When she traces the path of autumn leaves
Along the stars, to that dreamy night
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