Inheritance
There is no rule written in an enormous ledger by an acolyte angel
that says a poet will write every day until death. The uncivil war will end
according to absence of such dictate when humours start to break down
cellular walls and cancer spreads overcoming defences of heart, lungs,
kidneys, gut, brain, in no particular order, as aforementioned parts
succumb to constant hammering of shells, fits of barking orders to kill,
and distant turning away from disaster, beating breasts, while asking
focus groups, how can we intervene in a sovereign nation, does this
particular wilful disregard for human life meet your standard, fellow
citizens and friends? Pure fantasy. Nobody consulted the man in Peoria
or the soothsayer shuffling along to the bead shop on Main Street. There
was no attempt to interfere with ordinary irritations of Western peoples
living in their democracies, or Chinese factory workers assembling sound
cards. Father or politburo know best which is to donate or lend fighter jets
in return for port concession and road-building, forest-felling contracts and
much more promised also to the other great power of the Indian Ocean, but
how to determine the amount any government can sell in order to kill in peace,
to eliminate its cancer with a terrifying dose of radiation, to keep the ground hot and
de-mine it slowly over decades while population dies off or sympathizers abroad
tire of protest marches on anniversary days. Human societies are slow to heal and
nurse resentments over decades and centuries. Welcome to hurt passed down to
children and grandchildren, to unpaid crimes, suppressed anger, cold war.
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To be back again in the square one? why my brother, tell me how to heal, for I have inherited a lot! of pain.
Dear Indran,
I enjoy all of your poetry. They are quite moving. I know we have been through hell and there are still unhealed wounds.
But couldn’t you write something humorous? Do forgive me for even asking you this but sometimes I too become morbid when I hear sad news all the time.
Pearl, please see my blog http://indranamirthanayagam.blogspot.com for recent poems about the World Cup, not of cricket, but of soccer. I think humorous poems will come about Sri Lanka but they can’t be forced, no forced marriages, no forced revisions of identity cards, no forced silence in a car or befuddlement before a sign one can’t read. They will come. Take Care. Indran
That last line reminded me of my Sunday Leader days when I used to get death threats.
I am now a middle-aged woman and should be no threat, Indran.
I meant the humorous poems not thugs, Pearl. I wrote a poem thinking of your question. Please contact me via email and I will send it to you. Indran
Dear Indran,
I am in the process of holding an exhibition in London, Frontline Club ( a war correspondents club bequeathed by Graham Greene) hopefully at the end of this year.
I have already earmarked Guy Gunaratne’s videos, Anurudhha Lokuhapuarachchi ( former reueters cameraman) who is here, to commemorate the war for future references.
I wonder if you could provide your war and peace poetry.
I still have the onerous task of raising funds for such a big event but I can manage this.
I am very particular this should be Sri Lankan intiative and not politically motivated. Much in the same way holocaust was commemorated to avoid future such catstrophies.
My aim is to awaken human conscience as to what blind nationalism can do to destory a whole humankind through sheer ignorance be it Tamil or Sinhal nationalism.
Pearl, I would be pleased to send you some of the poems for the exhibition. Let me know how to reach you via email. Indran
My email is pearltheva@hotmail.com. I will let you know once I have made some preliminary arrangements with Frontline Club in London and meet up wit hsome Sri Lanakn photojouranlists and writers. There is another Sri Lankan I know, Rohan Jayasekera, who is the editor @ Index on Censorship.
I really need to hold a meeting and then we’ll go from there.