Monday, August 31, 2015

ඔවුහු...

ඔවුහු තම ප්‍රේම කතාව කඳුළු බිඳු වලින් තෙත් වූ පින්සල් තුඩකින් සිත්තම් කරමින් වුන් හ.

ඔවුහු තම ප්‍රේම කතාව ඉසියුම් වූ රටාවන්ගෙන් යුක්තව ඉමහත් ඉවසීමෙන් කැටයම් කරමින් වුන් හ.

ඔවුහු තම ප්‍රේම කතාව නීල ගගනත සැරිසරන්නා වූ සිසිර පවනට මුමුනමින් වුන් හ.

ඔවුහු තම ප්‍රේම කතාවෙහි මිදී කිමිදී මිය යමින් වුන් හ.

ඔහුවු තම ප්‍රේම කතාව ප්‍රේම කතාවක් බැව් නොදැන වුන් හ.

ඔවුහු ප්‍රේමයෙන් වෙලී ප්‍රේමය සොයන්නා වූ හ.

ඔවුහු තම අන්‍යෝන්ය ප්‍රේමය දනිත් නම්...

Saturday, August 29, 2015

For you, for you don't know

Only if you knew
that these
words
are meant for you...
every single letter
every period, every comma
each stroke of this
pen

Only if you knew
that these
poems
are meant for you...
every line,
each stanza, each metaphor
each word

Only if you knew
that I
am pouring my
heart out
just for you...
for everyday
every night
it is the image
of yours
that lightens my mind

Only if you knew
those that
you read so dearly
everyday,
for weeks, for months, for years
are about you...

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

ඩිග්‍රියක රස්තියාදුව

පාපැදියක නැඟී
ඩිග්‍රිය වෙතට
පදිනෙමි...
මුසාවට මුලාවෙන
යථා නැති කතාවක
දුම් රියක නැඟ
නැවත එන්න ට

අතරමඟක දි
ප්‍රේමය ග්‍රයින්ඩ් කර
ඔතාගෙන ඔතාගෙන යමි
සිල්බරයක් මත
ෆිල්ටරයක් නොමැති සඳ

අරුමැති රසකාර
පැණි බීම වී
සන්තාන කළඹයි
ඉපැරණි බරසාර
දෙගුරු රුහිරු සේද

කවිකාර හිත ගාව
පව්කාර කම
රත්න සේ
රත් වෙවී දිදුලයි
ගෙල ලා
ලෝ ඉදිරියේ තැබුවාම..

මව්බිමට අතවනා
ඩිග්‍රිය ට වැඳි
එදා සිට
දින දින ම මියෙන්නෙමි
අරුත් නැති කතා මැද
ටිකෙන් ටික

ලෙක්චරර් බුදියයි.
මම ද බුදියමි
උරාබිව් පෙම විත්
කැස්සකින් ටොකු
අනින තෙක්..
"ලෙක්චරර් දුම් රිය මතය
උඹ එහෙම නැත"

සැබෑවකි..
මම තවම ඇවිදිමි
පාපැදිය - ප්‍රාණය ට
සින්න වී ඇති සේ ය.

ඩිග්‍රියක් ඇති දාට
නැවත මිලදී ගනිමි
මා අතින් මඟ හැරුණු
මා දිවිය...
එතකන් නැවත බුදියමි...

සායම් යමින් දියවෙන
තාරුණ්‍යෙහි තනිකම
සොච්චම් උපාධියකට
නවතාලන්න ඇහැකිද?

Monday, August 24, 2015

If I could write like you


If I could write like you,
I would write about
your beautiful misty eyes
those that speak to me
when our voices
stay quiet
I would write about
how your smile
comes over to me
and holds my heart
and makes it skip
a beat
I would write about
all those nights when
you would roam around
in the loneliest
and the coldest and darkest
parts of my dreams
and lightens my
nights
I would write about
nights of letters
chats and calls
and long hours
spent conversing
about
everything from
the Earth
to the end of the
universe...

But I can't write
like you can
and this pen
and this piece of paper
would testify to that..

And I'm glad I can't
for now I have
the time
and the mental space
to love you

Not caged in
press boxes
not enslaved by
those wanting
that autograph
on their personal copy
of whatever I would
write

I would have
the time
to take care of you,
to show you
your worth that
they can't show
and you don't have the time to
see.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Fairytale


The beginning
of my sweet fairytale
was a cry,
a cry that brought
life into the world
and tears of joy
onto my eyes..
Those small legs,
tiny palms
and soft soft skin

The title of
my sweet fairy tale
'Nethra'*
for she possessed
beautiful beautiful eyes
more valuable than
gemstone
more valuable than
my own life

Each page
of my sweet fairytale
filled with joy
like the day she
smiled, the day
she walked first
and like 
the day she first 
said papa

The ending
of my sweet little
dear fairytale
without warning..
without resolution..
one moment, flowing like a river
and the next, empty: a void

Why wasn't it my flesh
that tore apart
for my heart is shattered...
shattered into dust

God must've made a mistake..
that last period was
on the wrong
sentence.

*Nethra is a beautiful word for eyes in Sinhalese. (could be a girl's name as well)

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

This Letter

Please don't
read this 
letter
for 
it is not meant
for you

It is not
meant for the you
who feel.

The you who 
feel cold 
when it is cold.
The you who
sweat 
when it is hot.
The you who smile,
and cry and weep.

Not for
the real you.

This letter is
meant for,

your statue,
a hundred feet tall
with an angelic 
fervour in the eyes
and a divine
smile...
hypnotic 
to the eye catchers,
and sculpted with
pure marble 
glowing even
in pitch black....

mounted in the middle
of the bottom
of my cold, dark
Heart.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Slave?

when
I was given
the chains
by my
slave masters,
they took me
to the
grandest
most expensive
chain shop
and asked me
to choose
what chain
I preferred

there
they took
good care to
find me
the best of the best
because
they wanted
the most for me
while
I was theirs

and
they bought
me a chain;
one that of
gold,
prettified with
a few
gemstones,
and told me
how much
I meant for them

it
certainly
struck me hard
so much so
that I
almost forgot
I still was
their

goddamn slave

Reflection

There goes
another bus
another one
and another one..
all of which
I could’ve board.

Yet here
I find myself
looking through
the restless waves
below
at an image
broken,
appearing and
disappearing;
a reflection.

This is
to all the buses
I did not board
and how glad
am I for that

For all the while,
I had
talked and
cried and
smiled
with that image;
that image so dear
would
care to listen.

Would laugh
when I laugh
Would weep
when I weep
Would bleed
when I bleed

How broken
How hurt.
Regardless.