No Hero Without ‘Her’
She saw me fly
my smiles and laughs
She saw me fall
my pain and cries...
In her eyes
I see my life
A future so vivid
A past of gold
sitting here in present
All so true
That’s how I know
You can’t spell
Hero without “Her”
She’s by my side.
Draining my pain
Lighting up my soul
Painting colours
from her Love.
Curing my heart
like a Dove.
With her I can
cry like there’s
no more
till there’s no more
For her I have
done nothing
for what
She has Done
If I am a tree
You are my root
Let me be a flower
And you will be my sun
Coming after war,
I am soldier
You are there
Arms wide open...
And that’s how I know
You can’t spell
Hero without “Her”
In the storm,
You will hold me tight
Never letting go...
I needn’t want
Any, when you are here
Because
I can’t spell
Hero without “Her”
There’s no
Hero without “Her”
This poem is dedicated for the most loving person in anyone’s life, the Mother.
Words: Charuni Nayanathara
****
At the End of the End
He found it exceedingly difficult,
To bring himself to look her
In the face,
And smile warmly at her,
Like he’d have done then,
The pain of the old wound
Still a heavy ship
Lying at anchor
On the ocean bed of his heart.
They strolled along the familiar road,
And turned into the compound
Of the new administration complex,
And then along the narrow tarmac,
Flanked by the big earthen pots,
Spaced out almost with mathematical precision,
Where the palm trees flourished.
His old hurts were as green as the grass,
On the manicured meadow to their left,
And he spoke so little
As though they spoke in a foreign tongue
In which he knew but few words.
Now relieved of her former weight,
That had weighted his heart
Like a big round stone
All through the last month
Of their final semester
In the final year
She ascended the flight of wooden stairs
To the library
As sprightly as a little girl.
All documents having been duly signed,
And letters handed in,
They retraced their steps to the start
Of their walk,
To part.
As always, he found her eyes
And her childlike smile
Quite inscrutable.
In the privacy of the green-black tuk-tuk,
Cradling on her old neighbour`s hands
Was the precious little thing,
That was her world now
and that walled them further apart.
Their long friendship,
His unspoken, but unhidden love
Boundless as the ocean
And her guileless betrayal
Were all things of history now.
At that point of no return,
He walked away
Proud, resolute, and invulnerable;
Not a soul would hear
How his heart shattered like a wine glass
Dropped on a tiled floor.
Words: Jayashantha Jayawardhana
****
To Neruda
Neruda, the poet,
Please give me
Your Burmese mistress
if you think she’s excess .
I will love her my utmost
from the core
of the heart deepest .
You may take
the sack of rice she brought
I want nothing at all.
I will reap the harvest
of her love,
the love, which terrified
you most.
Please give her tears of sorrow
that flowed beneath her
feet much mellow
I know how to smear
a graceful smile
over her tightened lips
in a while
Neruda,
give me the panther
which is obsessed with love
and anger
I will take her ashore
and tame with lusty rapture
You may take the Burmese sword
I will take the Burmese brunette.
Words: Kapila Kumara Kalinga
(Inspired by Asoka Handagama’s film ‘Alborada’)
Translation - Sunethra Aluthdunne