I see them ... faces.
changing,
different
like years and days and hours
i see them....people.
changing,
different
personalities, characters
but just some faces, and lesser people
stay..
they stay they haunt...
bring joy or sorrow
in life's various dents and bumps, they come and they go
those faces, those people, those personalities and those characters....
ah could one live without them?
different, changing
like years days and hours.
I go clean
after a storm, rapture and a tempest
I go clean
on my hearts consent
I lie, i settle, i conceal
So the folds of that chapter wouldnt open again.
I elate, victorious as i believ
it is the right thing to do.
I go clean
for the people i love
I go clean
for the ones that i want to love me
tell me
you lonely lover
You say goodbye to Youth
at the threashold of manhood
Unchanged you are.. still searching for the one
i am too still
forever...
tell me lonely lover
tell me.
your tears turn to salt
as you search the oceans
you search at day
you search at night
have you ever
searched closer to you?
I am her.
its I... lonely lover
Its I....
tell me
you lonely lover
You say goodbye to Youth
at the threashold of manhood
Unchanged you are.. still searching for the one
i am too still
forever...
tell me lonely lover
tell me.
day and night turn my enemies
as i lay waiting for you to find me
you search at day
you search at night
have you ever
searched closer to you?
I am her.
its I... lonely lover
Its I....
Tell me you lonely lover
tell me...
what are you searching for?
Have you searched
closer to you?
so close
that you dont know
its I..
Its I... you lonely lover..
my lonely lover..
Dig deep in to my heart.
so deep, an unending web of memories will confuse you
a web full of colour at times
at times dull grey you'll get lost not able to find your way
open those hidden doors
release the locks
unbound those shackles
its an adventure to untangle what was put away
long ago
you'll know
and at the end of the tunnel, at the very abyss, you'll find
You.
Do you remember now?
It was love
Painful.
yet how tender
you had your life
I had mine… sorted.. settled..
how you tossed the peaceful tides in to a ravenous storm
drenched I was in the foam so angry that it tore me apart
and then I was gone..
but still, even today
dig deep in to my heart.
so deep, an unending web of memories will confuse you
a web full of colour at times
at times dull grey you'll get lost not able to find your way
open those hidden doors
release the locks
unbound those shackles
its an adventure to untangle what was put away
long ago
you'll know
and at the end of the tunnel, at the very abyss, you'll find
You.
I am here now
So far away.
But when I die
The last memories that flit through my mind
In my last moments, when the time is due
Will be of
You.
by Em Jay on Tuesday, September 4, 2007 at 12:07am
A dove her wings shorn
struts on the ground.
No complaints, or whinging as
She is not that type.
picking on waste when she needs food.
singing at night when it is the mood.
Why worry, she thinks, life is such
Simple and quiet, You live as it comes.
But one day the dove sees a swan
A vision in white, graceful and young
Just like me, dove thought
Yet so different she could have sworn
Her wings spread the breath of the lake
Gliding gracefully, Dove thinks… but hey
Its I who can fly, and she can only wade.
But why then, I’m here, my wings sheared
My path shut
When a swan, so useless looks so serene
She glides I only strut.
The dove so white and pure
With shorn wings pulling her to the ground
Thinks why I am just too demure.
The dove awaits, a tomorrow
With her wings brought back
The dove awaits a different morrow
Where she touches the sky
She thinks its high time.
I feel the swim
The blossoming of your dawn
I feel the flutter
The butterfly that I’ve grown
My blood and soul
Split in two
In happiness that I elate
And await
To see your face
How is it possible?
Of love to create you
How is it possible
To hold you
Me?
Did I ever believe?
I thought I’d never dream
Not Anymore
Simply Magical…
I’ve seen English weather
Snow….
in the middle of spring
sheets of Daffodils
Dew….
Teasing the petals
To fall or not to…
I’ve seen snowcapped mountains
Beautiful…
Scot highlands
Valleys of deep entrenches
A lazy sun…
raising its eyes
To look down
On sea green meadows
I’ve felt the Indian Ocean
licking the salt off my face
Of linking waters of Southern Africa
from Hikkaduwa to Durban.
Fascinated..
By geography…
I’ve seen the picture perfect tarred roads
The smell of clean sheets
And exotic street lights
In holidays spent in Singapore
Jordan, Wales and the Wight
Inside beautiful Bawa creations
Out on the pinnacles of hills
Cool…
Fresh…
The suns and moons that shone
Waterfalls and tropical getaways
Spent in magnificent Ceylon
But all this
Only a fraction of happiness
Awe
And wonder
Set apart from seeing the tweak of flesh
On my tummy
Of my little one moving
Inside her mommy..
Dizzied with elation
I am today
To see the beginning of you
Little pitter patter
Chubby fingers poking
Trying to see more
Are those fingers I see
Or a little toe?
Lord Buddha once said,
Nothing is yours..
Not to keep, not to store
Everything we ever had
We’d have to leave and go
But the Lord’s wrong
I say
How can I ever leave you
My little one
I created you
You are my own
Every morning
Is a blessing
In the guise of the unseen face
of a Beautiful future
With you
I feel full, of life inside me
You have already woken
Hungry for the morning tea
I wake your father
Who kisses my belly
And says “good morning
My little princess…”
Not so far away
Is the day
I see us waking up together
Some days even jolted by your hungry cries
Maybe a soft whimper
Or even when you are big enough
Your tiny hands banging on my face
Trying to wake me up
And your father will say
“Good morning my little princess”
Love shining in his sleepy face
And I will smile, thinking he’s greeting me
To open my eyes
And see you
Cuddled in between
Snug and warm
Happy and talking alone to the ceiling
To angels that hover above
I can’t imagine
What it’d be like
With you
In our jaded lives….
Come soon my love
We are waiting…
Encircled November
Saturdays numbered..
Crossed weeks in Thirty five, thirty six
How many more to stay and watch?….
The torso on the opposite spread
Eye candy gone awry
Pushed deep in to oblivion
Just one single thought
In unintentional meditation
How many more Saturdays….
Until that big day..
Have i got…?
Two weeks…. An eternity…
Slow twenty fours
Slapping on my face
The sun rising in lazy motion
Days dragging like a leper’s cloak
Tormenting each hour
With its colourless furore
I stand still in the middle of a whirling world
Anticipating…
Waiting….
For that special thing to happen….
My hubby Channa had a Super Supermarket checkout moment with our son Niklesh recently. It had been a crowded weekday evening at the checkouts with lots of tight-skirted/tie- wearing, Aunty-Netta-type English speaking busy bodies de-touring to grab a bite for dinner, gedara yana gaman.
Niklesh had examined Channa’s place of pride, blissfully oblivious to his whereabouts and any social implication, and of course in his usual very conspicuous, high-volume, high-pitched voice had announced “ahh.. mey thiyenne thaththige choo eka..!” (ahhh… this is where my father pees from)
Channa promises he went violet in face (not sure how much of it was visible as he was born rust colored anyways ) and coughed as if he was suddenly suffering from an unbearable bout of whooping cough to dilute the situation. You ask what the others at the checkout said and how they responded to the moment, Channa wouldn’t know.. Cos he had been “paa wenawa” (airborne) out of sheer embarrassment.
That was Channa’s moment. And he will carry it to his tomb. I had mine recently. It was different.
I had lectured Niklesh of the behavior he would have to adopt in a crowded environment and had taken his promise of discretion before we took him to the same supermarket 2 days ago.
There we were again at the checkouts. It was just as busy as the previous fateful day. Channa was unloading our groceries to the conveyor belt and the unassuming gentleman who was next in line adjusted our packet of eggs before it risked falling off the belt.
There goes Niklesh again. “Uncle oka allanna epa, oka mage thaththige!” (Uncle, stop touching my father’s goods) It was the ‘uncle’s’ moment to go violet in face and he really apologized to the twit, mumbling something half-audible like “apoo nehe nehe, mama oyaage thaththige badu allanne nehe” (No,no I will not touch your father’s stuff) This was the cue for me to go violet. I looked at Channa who laughed loud maybe to dilute the situation again as I couldn’t see anything remotely laughable there. I was livid. I took Niklesh's arm and in an equally loud and a stern voice chided him, of course in my well-acquired English “Putha you don’t say such things. That was very bad of you. Please say sorry to uncle now”. It was not all in vain for Niklesh was all ready to apologize with a playful smile he sang “Sorry uncle”. The poor man avoided or maybe couldn’t bear to look in the eye of either of ours or our child’s.
Nik would throw his alphabet books on the floor and you ask him to pick it up he wouldn’t. He would throw a tantrum that he wouldn’t eat his lunch, mostly the only meal he has the whole day, and you ask him politely giving him all the baits under the sun and he still would come up with a firm, headstrong “epaaa”. He would hurl his hefty toys at his grandparents and you ask him to stop it and he would throw the next available brick at them. There have been uncountable moments where Niklesh would act obstinate and would drive both of us mad with impatience and the inner struggle to smack him square if not for all the parenting tips and assertions we have come across by professional child psychiatrists and like-minded friends. Sometimes ever so rarely it gets the better of me and I would strike him across his pudgy bum which he would tolerate and softly say with so much character in tone “Ammi epaa!” meaning ‘I don’t want you’.
The best Channa could devise was “the naughty corner”. The hinging - corner of the main door to our house where Nik would have to stand and wait for our clearance to come out following bad behaviour. First I was skeptical of the whole idea. Ok, you select a place; you call it a naught corner, but what is the assurance that my intractable 2 years- and- 5 months- old, would accept it as a punishment, better yet, would he stay there if you ask him to?
It worked wonderfully. Weird as it may sound, you threaten him that he will end up in the naughty corner, and he would check his attitude and behavior. But not too long before I noticed something very disturbing in his usual independent attitude. He started fearing doors. Any door. He started fearing the engravings of the colossal entrances to hotels and restaurants that we took him to. He feared Oval shapes. Because the door that he stands cornered at home has the engraving of a huge oval on it. I have now decided to slowly phase him out of the naughty corner concept that gave us the sense of satisfaction of discipline with Nik.
Nik is brilliant with colors and shapes. In his pyjamas, ready for bedtime he asked me to stay with him until he falls asleep. With a pantry-full of dirty dishes and un-brushed teeth, I was struggling the urge to shutdown myself as it is normally the case with being his bedmate. My fingers stumbled on a pink, plastic- coated paper clip lying on the bed and tried my tricks with it while Nik looked on. I straightened out the clip as much as I could in to a crooked rod and fashioned it in to an almost heart shape and waited for Nik to recognize it. “Heart” he said. I curved it in to an almost crescent and he said “Moon” I fumbled with it again and Nik said “ rectangle” identifying the shape with utmost ease. Then he took the plastic piece from my hand and showed me the kinks that it characteristically had when it was still in paper clip form, nonchalantly put the two ends together and said “Sri Lanka”. Try doing it yourself and see how a jaffna-less Sri Lanka emerges from the unsuspecting piece of wire-plastic ..
I watched my bright, naughty son in his sleep that night. His cherubic cheeks, thick black hair cut to no.0 for his comfort that made his facial features stand out distinctly. His lush long eye lashes curving upwards at the ends, his marked eyebrows, so black that it sets his fair smooth baby skin out so finely. Lips so pink and the snubbed nose that I never could make right with daily cream massages to the dismay of my mother and mother-in-law. They think he inherited it from his mother.. Me..I watched him in his sleep and made a mental toast, “here’s to me, to have been able to form this creation. Here’s to me who can put up with all his mischief throughout the day. Here’s to me for another identical day tomorrow and as long as I live!”
Here’s to all mothers struggling to stay psychologically afloat in their children’s varying stages of metamorphoses.
