Wednesday, November 23, 2016

O Ophelia!

O Ophelia,
what a miserable life you had!
the tragedy of yours
lies not in your death
but in your motherless being…

Wretched are all those souls
who romanticize your
and the circumstances
with which you lived

A single little Daisy
- in a field of Rue, Fennel
and Columbines -
whose strings were pulled by
its own father,
its own brother,
and its own lover;
made use of
for their own little schemes

O you wilted Violet,
- even the one you loved,
who claim to have loved you back!
what is the use of
when your life is no more?

Do Rosemaries grow near
living in the shadows of
and under the wings of
kings and
men with no titles

A motherless instrument
bound by duty and kinly love
forgetting yourself
for the greater 'good'
driven mad by love and sorrow
and guilt and misery;
a big pawn in a
little game

Wretched are all the
Poloniuses, Laerteses,
all the Hamlets
Gertrudes and Claudiuses
in this world

Wretched are the lives
of all the Ophelias
of our time...

Wretched is myself
who pity you
for being born in
this wretched world


හිතුන දේ දැනගන්න ආසයි