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| Indunil Madhusankha |
Autobiography of the Poet
I am the poetcarrying a luggage of roles
all of which I play with equal interest
I am the talkative lover
who knocks on the door of your heart
and having entered,
bursts into a torrid tete-a-tete
with your inner self
and sings fantastic flirtations
I am the justice in the court
betokening perfect impartiality
and never guilty of distorting the truth
None receives the least pardon from me
for any offence
I am the policeman
following the thugs
with a baton
and filing a case against them
I am the overpowering magician
My virility, more ebullient
than that of a gunman or a swordsman
In case they can only kill a person
Yet I influence the latter
and charge the battery of his heart
I am the labourer
digging out moth eaten rubbish mounds
and recycling them
A Worker Repeats History
His life had everbeen far from easy
The bulk of the bricks
in the cart
always used to
be a companion
though it remained
hard – hearted
The rumpled dirty rag
with no less than
a dozen of patches
barely saved him
from the fierce sunbeams
It is only the tiny
rivulets of salty sweat
pouring down his cheeks
that knew how
wrinkled he was
On that day,
the scorching sun,
its blinding rays,
and even the burning
sands in the site
They all witnessed it
And yet stood still,
as if they did not
Oh, the poor man
He could not endure it,
the pile of boulders
that thrashed
him abruptly
while hiding him
amidst itself
And, then
he disappeared
as he breathed his last
The next day
I saw another man
sweating out to hold
the craggy blocks of rock
Thus he fills the lacuna
and he repeats history.
Ignorance is Bliss
She lives under the bridgein a shanty made of plastic bags
and that is her sole shelter
She has never seen the inside
of those classy restaurants
which glisten like castles,
castles of the caliber
she has never even imagined
but heard of in
“once upon a time” fairytales
She has never tasted
a chocolate milkshake
or a blackcurrant tea
But, perhaps a little sip of juice
left in the depth
of a plastic bottle
that she scavenged
from the trash
Nor has she ever even
seen a beef burger
or a tuna or shrimp submarine
She only knows
the hem of a hopper
or the rotting lump of cheese
that appeases her hunger
After all, it seems good
that she is unaware
of the existence of
such heavenly dishes
And now only I understand
why they say,
Ignorance is bliss
