June 28, 2017
my Crayola-trained American eyes
But here there is
Train Ticket Lavender,
which is creamier than
Spicy Pahe Brown.
Paddy Field Green is a favorite,
as is Floor Polish Red.
Poya Day Whites
a shade crisper than
Indian Ocean Turquoise
But nothing is brighter
than Little-Boy-School-Shorts Blue.
How can I begin to understand,
How can I allow myself to write,
When I am just starting
to truly see colour?
Sukhee Ramawickrama- Write to Reconcile, page 94
දිනමිණ, වසත් සුළඟ 27/06/2017
June 26, 2017
June 21, 2017
Selecting a Reader | Ted Kooser
First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
"For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned." And she will.
දිනමිණ- වසත් සුළඟ 20/06/2017
June 16, 2017
ඇතැම් විට දේදුනු පායන්නේ වැසි වැටෙද්දී ය. ඇතැම් විට වැසි වැටී නිමවුණු පසු ය. බලාපොරොත්තු වූ දේදුන්නක් වුව ඇතැම් විට හැබෑවට දකිද්දී සතුටක් ගෙන එයි.
මේ කැඩපත පුවත්පතේ පළ වූ මගේ දේදුන්නයි. ජුනි මාසයේ පුවත්පත පල කරන්නට ඔන්න මෙන්න තිබියදී කතාව ලැබුණ ද ඊට මේතරම් ඉඩක් වෙන්කළ කැඩපත කණ්ඩායමට තුති!
කැඩපත (ඕස්ට්රේලියාවේ මාසික ශ්රී ලංකික ප්රජා සඟරාව)- ජුනි 2017.
June 13, 2017
we had met
say in 1999?
passed each other
down the hall
that big wooden stairway.
would you have looked
in your nonchalant way
would I have cared
or stared right through.
do you reckon
it would have changed
a thing or two.
back in ’99
could we have fallen in love?
were you with someone?
what i know now
I could have left him for you.https://greenteadiaries.wordpress.com/2010/03/08/99/
දිනමිණ වසත් සුළඟ 13/06/2017
June 08, 2017
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
- Billy Collins
දිනමිණ- වසත් සුළඟ 06.06.2017
June 02, 2017
මීදුමක අතැඟිලි විත්
වත පිරිමදින අරුණක
තුරුහිස් මතින් ඉහිරෙන,
පත් රන් දියෙන් නහවන,
හිරු කෙඳිති දැක මත්වෙමි
ඒ නුඹ ම බව හඳුනමි
සීරුණු සිතක තැවුලෙන්
කඳුළු ඉහිරුණු දවසක
දිය කඩිත්තක ඉවුරක,
කවියක් තියා නැවතුන,
මලක් දැක මඟ නවතිමි
ඒ නුඹෙන් බව හඳුනමි
photo- misty morning in Melbourne