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the solitary

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									                                                                                                                                            ARTSCOPE / POETRY



Thru’ the mist of a memory you
wander back to me,
Breathing my name with a sigh
                                                   - Mitchell Parish




     Stopped at                                                                                                             A Dilemma
     the solitary                                                         Dancing                                             Love all beings
                                                                                                                              No matter they harm you.

     Summer-hut                                                           on a String                                         Love conquers everything
                                                                                                                              Hatred wins nothing.
                                                                                                                              My mind is set.
                                                                            Reflecting about us,                              I bear no hatred
       I stopped at the solitary summer-hut                                 Reflecting about the way,                         Nor malice, nor enmity.
       Beneath the large mango tree,                                        We humans live,
       And waited for my friend to come,                                    Dancing on a string,                              Love your country
       My heart singing with glee.                                          The puppets that we really are;                   Protect it.
                                                                            Day by day,                                       Allow no enemy to conquer.
       With the soft rays of the morning sun peeping,                       Chasing all the goals,                            Honour the war heroes,
       I felt no great heat;                                                Chosen by us or by others;                        Past and present.
       Delighted was I over the thoughts of the friend,                     Forgetting that someone is,                       You are duty-bound
       Whom I was now going to meet,                                        Forever pulling the string;                       To destroy the enemy.
                                                                            Instead of doing the correct movement,
       Fancy nursed my heart’s sweet hope,                                  In and out we go;                                 I’m searching
       And set my passion ablaze;                                           Chasing all the goals,                            For a way to kill
       The sequestered summer-hut,                                          Chosen by us or by others;                        Preserving love undamaged.
       being so pleasantly shaded,                                          Forgetting the hand that pulls the string.        Years and years passed
       Was a splendid place.                                                                                                  I’m still searching
                                                                                   Shantini Rubawathy Vivekanathan            I seek your help
       Perched on a branch, I heard a bird sing,                                                                              Please tell me
       A melodious murmur of love;                                                                                            Which way I should choose.
       I asked myself over and over again,
       ‘Why’re you getting late, my dove?”                                                                                                           T. M. J. B. Tennakoon
       Up the road I saw you come strolling,
       Beaming at me with such pleasure,
       That I felt my heart stop for a moment,
       With happiness beyond measure!                                  Lost
                           Jayashantha Jayawardhana
                                                                       Revolutions                                       Prologue to
                                                                         Fifty six
                                                                         One who knew politics
                                                                                                                         Navyman’s Tale
                                                                         With the power of ballot                          I know that I may meet my fate
                                                                         Lost no lives                                     Somewhere in this deep watery-grave,
  Hundred                                                                Enriched lives of many
                                                                         Southern revolutionaries
                                                                                                                           Death lurks everywhere thru day and night
                                                                                                                           I hate those against whom I fight
                                                                         Half-baked with politics
  Metres                                                                 Relied on bullet
                                                                         Only loss of life and property
                                                                                                                           Watchin in a Dvora-boat in the mid O’the sea
                                                                                                                           Acutely aware O’duty, entrusted to me
                                                                         We did experience                                 Keeping vigil over the sea, dawn or twilight,
     Competitors kneel                                                   In the same manner                                I hate those against whom I fight.
     On the track.                                                       Half baked Northerners
     Backs arched,                                                       brought no revolution.                            Powerful boats of enemies might,
     Muscles tensed,                                                     Annihilation of democrats                         Make incursions, under cover O’the night,
     Waiting for the gun shot.                                           As well as innocents                              We’re ready to pulverise’em on sight,
     Bang!!! The silence shatters                                        Mayhem everywhere.                                I hate those against whom I fight.
     Stretched-out legs,                                                 Those who are unable
     Gritted teeth,                                                      To win ballots                                    I’ve not time for music, dance and tra-la-la
     Shouts and boos,                                                    Become the agents                                 Picnics and get-togethers and brouhaha
     A rush of air,                                                      Of marketeers of bullets.                         Always mindful of attacks from enemy-side
     Blurred colour,                                                                                                       I hate those against whom I fight.
     The finishing line,                                                                      D. K. Piyarathna
     The bright red ribbon                                                                                                 I’ve to be alert, in an atmosphere oppressive.
     Waiting . . .                                                                                                         Ever ready to confront an enemy aggressive,
     For one winner,                                                                                                       Braving heat, storms, rain, day and night,
     To break through.                                                                                                     I hate those against whom I fight.
     The thud of running shoes
     Echo on the track, then,                                                                                              I know that I may meet my fate,
     A winner breaks through.
                                                                       A Bohemian                                          Somewhere in this deep watery-grave.

                             Nillasi Liyanage                                                                                                                S.G. Ratnayake
                                                                       Rhapsody
                                                                       I must confess
                                                                       That I never checked - up
                                                                       My destination
                                                                       Before the long winding - flight
                                                                       From - the world map
                                                                                                                         Temptation
                                                                       Awaiting blissfully
Destination                                                            A smooth touch - down
                                                                       At the imposing air - port
                                                                       Of Lusaka
                                                                                                                         O! you wicked one
                                                                                                                         How oft. did’st thou come into me
                                                                                                                         In diverse fashion
I found a dead butterfly on the doorstep,                              Greeting me with hand - shakes                    By day through night
A wonderful creation of Mother Nature,                                 By smiling Zambian officials                      When loneliness settles upon me
Beautiful wings formed a classy design                                 Who took me                                       Yet, the aggressive nature,
Of black and white,                                                    As a spectator                                    That abounds in me
Like an attire that suited a lovely princess,                          To witness a rare sight                           Make absolutely no room for thee.
A naive butterfly you were once I guess                                Of spectacular dance troupes                      Thou, O wicked one.
Flying from flower to flower lively,                                   Swaying erotically                                Depart thence from me.
But alas, you lie lifeless                                             And in unison
For you could not escape the reality                                   To the rhythmic                                   Your antics indeed are loud and clear
How beautiful you were,                                                African drum - beat                               Like unto a cascading spring
Death is the destination                                               And I was transformed                             Which pours down in torrents unceasingly
That lies in the end of our journey,                                   Instantly                                         Dragging poor mortals to yourself.
                                                                       Hugged and loved                                  Depart thou, then into thy realm
                      Chanakya Liyanage                                By enigmatic and fun loving                       And leave poor earthlings,
                                                                       African damsels                                   Their way to stay and live.
                                                                       To worship, jocularly                             O wicked one,
                                                                       Hitherto unknown                                  Depart, depart then, forever.
                                                                       God of Eros
                                                                                                                                                             J. I. Rosairo
                                                                                              Ranjan Amarasinghe

								
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