The non-globalized

For twenty three years
witnessing her grand daughter grows
my non-globalized Grandma
in her seventies
still dumping medicine
into the garbage basket
living in her simple world
kottamalli, bebila, katuwelbatu
sudu loonu, welmi, akkapana
the list goes on
ask those newly appointed nurses
to go abroad
heard she saying yester night
during the news bulletin

Her hair's getting whiter
just like a doll's hair
I have a fist of them
in my drawer
saved  for future

I see her
caressing the face
with water
cursing the Colombo heat
uprooted from serenity
placed on complexity
she has no complains
I am in this "atharamaga"
for the sake of my "minipiri"

Still spreading some chocolates
on my study table
after her shopping sessions
does she understand
her Minipiri blogging?
under the title
"Aththamma's Minipiri"
will have to spend minutes
for the explanation
after all she has spent
twenty + 3 years
explaining the world to me

NOSTALGIA

Accelerated by the speed of a flying bus

A pair of eye lenses

In its journey to every nook and corner

Across the streets

Capturing the images

Of a most celebrated event

Like a keen Cameraman

SUDDENLY,

Halted for a while

A "technical disruption"

You may call it

NO a mental disruption

An eye soothing image

Of two sprouting siblings

Sharing handfuls of biscuits

Two cups of tea laying aside

The dusk coated mat

Rings the bell of the interval

“Lantern school” comes into a standstill

Until the next customer

Drops on the street

To buy a colorfully fleshed skeleton

Mentally halted mind

Treads towards a lane of memories

Huge emerald bamboos

Meet the sharpness of a huge knife

Stick by stick stack aside

Hugging each other in one frame

Tied by strong white strings

The event two of us

Planning since “Aurudu” has arrived

Tender fingers running through

Six frames collected into one

A feast for popping eyes

An “atapattama” finally what we call it

Caul tissues neatly cut

Carefully pasted on each frame

Tapping on it slightly

Like two drummers beating on drums

Listening to the musical effect

Final creation with lavish decors

And a glistening bright light of unity

Comes into the compound

පියෙහි විප්පයෝගෝ දුක්ඛෝ

(Separation from the beloved is sorrowful)

I hear a distant voice of a radio

Enlightening me with words of Lord Buddha

Two wretched young souls

Live in two different worlds

Just spare one minute

To convey through digital lines

Whether the “Wesak” moon

With its silvery limbs

Touched our compound

Like in those heydays