POEMS | Sunday Observer


Crying, crying and crying

A place I’ve never been to
Or seen before
A shining floor,
Too slippery for me to walk on
White and bright walls,
To high for me to glance at
Fine tables and chairs,
They are of no use to me
Only the Length between my tender
Neck and the table’s leg to which
I’ve been tethered matters to me
Crying, crying and crying
Can’t think of sleeping, eating or drinking
Though, I can’t bear my hunger and thirst
As loneliness is unbearable
Nothing went down to my little tummy
Since the time
I was taken away from my mother
Who was helpless before you mighty humans
To you men, women and children,
She’s just another four-footed animal
Of canine birth
But, to me, she’s my mother !
The one and only mother I can have
In my life !!.
My endless cry is only a
Plea to take me back to her
You, wise humans, please do listen
To the cry of this
Hapless little puppy
And have pity on it
At least at this late hour

– N. A. A. P. K. Nedurana


From a Shepherd’s life

I met a poor shepherd

Who struggles to live,
Supported by a herd of cattle
He was feeding
A herd of deer in the jungle
Who came to him as offspring to father.
The shepherd saw my surprise
And explained in words that wet my eyes:
“Years ago leading the herd home
I found a fawn forgotten by the doe
And weaned it with milk from my cows
The cows accepted the fawn as their calf
Which grew up by me as my own kid
The life I saved long ago has produced her own brood
With a buck in the jungle and they come out
Every morning to greet me as I lead the cattle to graze
And till I set off with the herd at sunset
They give me and the cattle their company.”
Harmony and gratitude in animals
Affection and contentment
Of a poor man with overflowing humanity.

– Chandana Ruwan Jayanetti


Preserved memories

Those old and tattered Albums,
Pages dimmed with timer,
Each page bringing back to life,
The wonderful days gone by.
Babes in arms, laughing children
As happy as could be,
Carefree school days, bridal retinues,
A tick along life’s way
Between the worn out covers,
spread out, is a story of life,
memories gush out like golden showers
The bliss of solitude!

– Rupa Wijesinghe.


The best was yet to see

Evergreen forest was it
Hidden from the common eye
Until trodden by an uncommon
That made it a lullaby
Wrote he glorious
Victorious was he
So sad but not be
The best was yet to see
On a rainy day forgone
Set he his foot forlorn
Berries and vines from dome
Welcomed the heart that doomed
So little he knew till then
When fairy goddess’s in
He gave up writing sin
Seeing his poem’s him

– Dilmini Hasintha