Archive for the ‘Poetry’

Meeting a VIP London, Summer, 2008

He asked me how it was that I could be Sinhalese was it 50%? if my mother was Sinhalese and in that case whether I was 50% burgher or whether I had one quarter Belgian blood in my veins It was a bit tiresome to explain to say I think 1/8th means 12 and a half percent Belgian and then another 1/4th is Dutch and two 25 percents on either side probably makes me 50% Sinhalese (but I cannot be sure, I could be 25% Tamil with my Kandyan blood) And I couldn’t do the math in my head because I was jet lagged and sleep deprived and I was tempted to say last time I got sick they did a FBC sir, I think there were the normal percentages of plasma and white cells but I was a bit low on the red cells you see I don’t eat red meat sir and I was always a bit anaemic….

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Renunciation

We turned out of bed saddened and furious when we heard Taliban detonated the Bamiyan Buddhas: What savagery, to destroy testaments aged over centuries, to a now effaced history; but today let us rejoice, Akon the singer has been denied a visa and a chance to feed the unruly and sexual minds of a sold-out Sri Lankan crowd, Christians no doubt, urbane Muslims certainly, even some fallen gautamas, they can’t be trusted pogo dancing, and we don’t want skin exposed near Lord Buddha. Yet, I wish to offer a disclaimer along with a refusal to appear before a court-martial or an investigative judge to testify about the nature of We to which I belong. Repost This Article

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  • 11 Feb, 2010
  • 1 Comment
  • Poetry

Sri Lanka Snapshot, 2010

For residents and visitors The giant leafy mango tree in the back garden has been cut down screamed the poet, Scar and the hyenas are in charge, the stomach queasy, revolted, Il Duce megaphoned War is Peace; in the exhaust fumes of a white van a soul flits about then vanishes, betrayal on 4 million tongues, the State is Me yet some of me is afraid to return, to stay, paralysed while State police black shirts twirling clubs pulp Lasantha to welcome in the year that ends with Sarath abducted, the State afraid will cover all tracks, Defense is Offense, Minister draws sap at Duttu’s right hand, while his boys play cricket for the nation and liberals cower before the impressive exertion of force and law to suppress dissent, under the ever-present pings of execution on camera phone, cerebral matter splattered to disco beats, while new-born howls alleviate the gloom, breathing air in the bloody morning room. Repost This Article

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election 2010

there was a lovely tree in the yard at the back of our house. a lovely sinewy and tall mango tree.              one day in the morning we were woken to the sound of a thousand parrots in uproar. they were hawing the tree down. we watched the whatever you call it uproot the tree. the roots we’re pulled out. the parrots displaced. we wondered about why they cut the tree down. the parrots found another home. this morning we woke up to the sound of a humming drill. a shed with an asbestos cover stood in its place. my old school had a bicycle shed like that. Repost This Article

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Yes, I am Tamil!

When Weerasena (1) was interdicted And the sun was on fire Above the textile factory Shouting slogans Screaming hoarsely Brother Nadesan(2) At the flaming pickets I was a Tamil When Weere(3) got the job back Riding on the shoulders “Long live brother Nade(4)….!” The victorious king In the victory parade I was a Tamil When Siripala(1) was shot By the squad breaking the strike Took him in my own hands And flew to the hospital I was a Tamil Both hands punctured With saline tubes “Nade, you are my saviour” Sira(4), you embraced me sobbing I was a Tamil. When Kusum(1) was pregnant And dying on a hospital bed They never demanded Sinhalese blood But just “O” negative Only I happened to have I was a Tamil. “Son, you belong to uncle Nade” the newborn Was put in my hands With tears flowing Yet, I was a Tamil. Weere, I hear your slogan Suppressing the shouting At the picket line “Slay the Tamils! Give…

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An Ode to a Bright Future

I hear the crack of a whip, you tell me it’s the sound of peace. I don’t believe you. Speak for yourself. Not for me. I heard them coming. They have no choice. I saw them cry. They have no choice. Shame on you. They have no choice. A picture speaks a thousand words, silence another- Silence. We have given up. Silenced. We have accepted defeat. Repost This Article

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Love Displaced

If I only knew you were all right or even just okay or less than all right but alive I could survive in this – this place where there are shops clinics even makeshift toilets and tampons distributed by companies with corporate responsibility If only I could imagine we found each other down a de-mined stretch of parched road on a thirsty day I could swim endlessly in this river of pity and not drown in the monsoon shit If I saw you I would recognise you I’m sure, I’d know that skin those bones if only I knew you were alive somewhere then I could wait forever to be out of here: where kindness is injected in small doses and love is a warm cup of nestomalt offered by bewildered hands. But I don’t and my love for you is a bullet lodged deep in the belly and sometimes when I sleep I dream we are making love and…

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The Emperor’s Clothes

Do not question the numbers when speaking of your dead sons in the field of war. accept quietly your death dues. Hush! Don’t worry! just in case you trouble Our Army Officers. Gentlemen of the Black Robes, you who were called traitors, we know your Glory! Hush! Shut your ears! No Legal Action against The Power Holders now just in case you distress Their Leader. A billion ends with nine zeros! war is indeed costly on what, pray, was it all spent? Hush! No questions please! Just in case you embarrass Our Rulers. The liberated are free in detention camps, should another Liberator descend to free them. Hush, Make no noise! just is case Our Sensitive Parliament collapses At such Heavy Questions. Do not inquire about the corpses appearing here and there of course, once in a way Disappearances do Happen! Hush! Don’t worry! just in case The Power and Glory of our King that rises by the day Shatters….

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Unshed Tears

“These are Elephants, Those are Tamils”1 -words from a friend. Baby Elephants- dearly beloved elders were killed before their tender eyes Baby Elephants-arms, legs, teeth shriveled with the pain of the bullet Baby Elephants- loose wrinkled skin hangs off starving, haunted frames Baby Elephants-left over remnants of humanity scraped up from The scorching earth of Vanni Yes, they are Tamil. Baby Elephants-no newspapers flare up for them in bold headlines Baby Elephants-no person steps into the streets to demand their well-being Baby Elephants-no believers in Ahimsa to speak for them, the intellectuals are mute Baby Elephants-no one to beat their chest wailing “aney” “apoi”2 at their fate Yes, they are Tamil. you know that your mothers lie dead. breasts heavy with the swollen pain of hardened milk. you know that your fathers lie dead who stomped the earth trumpeting intensely standing guard. Whom are you the Beloved of now? you know no countrymen will offer poojas to the gods with…

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Bearing Witness: Submit content on IDPs and Police brutality to win a Flip Ultra video camera

Through Bearing Witness, Groundviews seeks to engender critical citizen journalism on two vital issues confronting polity and society in post-war Sri Lanka. The ground conditions in Menik Farm, worsened by recent flooding, are a non-issue for most mainstream print and broadcast media in Sri Lanka. Yet, as this recent report from the UN’s IRIN news service notes, Close to 300,000 people now languish in 30 government camps in Vavuniya, Mannar, Jaffna and Trincomalee districts. Many of the camps – which were hastily erected in the final days of the war after thousands fled south from former LTTE-controlled areas – suffer from severe overcrowding. More than three months since the conflict ended, Zone two of Menik Farm continues to hold close to 55,000 – almost double its planned capacity. In fact, in some parts of Menik Farm, a single latrine caters to up to 80 people [Sphere standards call for 20], while some tents designed for five were accommodating up to 14. There are…

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Headlines

Bodies in the river and a riot in town Stones thrown, belts flying, youth going down Vans on the prowl and cops on the loose Gangsters, mobsters, drugs and booze Kids committing suicide, but still no justice Only transfers, denials and all the usual practice Drains overflowing, thousands behind wire Journalists, diplomats, and NGO’s under fire Baby elephants taken away, MP’s going strong Fancy cars, foreign trips, their kith and kin can do no wrong To protest is foolish, you’ll only be struck down and shoved out of the way Banners, flags, posters and cut-outs are the order of the day So I’ll stop for now, watch the cricket and have some fun Coz after all, it’s just another day in our island in the sun! Repost This Article

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Confessions

Stop this struggle He pleads Of his comrades A revolutionary leader Broken in pain In State Custody They set me on the wrong path He blames, pointing to his friends A young rebel in a Lonely rehabilitation camp Dreaming of a quick release. He frets about the cruelty of his Organization on Rupavahini.1 Thinking some good may come of it An old retired warrior Now surrendered into Military Custody. Praising the military loudly He serves sambhar2 into Sinhala plates. A Tamil waiter in Colombo fearing his own Sudden Disappearance. The Sad Truths he brought from a forbidden war zone are untrue He recants to the Rupavahini amidst a circle of Military Weapons. A doctor who treated thousands of wounded. Her daughter was a traitor Disowns a Sinhala mother of her daughter who died of a Sinhala bullet for a Tamil homeland. an elderly agitated voice amongst those celebrating an Ultimate victory. I see the desolation of an Abandoned Cause beneath…

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Broken Pottu

An infant in Menik Camp. Many thousands of the IDP children have lost both their parents comes news from the Sri Lankan ‘welfare camps’. Bright red pottu Every morning Never missed. The point of your finger Right here between our eyebrows For both of us. Amma puts hers first Then she puts mine. Remember me insisting Me first, me first! That day Dad give me a biggest hug, squeezed so tight, Lifted me so high, laughing so loud. At midnight he went out of the bunker. Amma must have known he wasn’t coming back But still she smiled at me. The day she went out of the bunker Her pottu was still shining between her eyebrows. Then her pottu went right into her head And red blood came all down her calm, loving face. Before then I only knew how to cry. Then I knew how to shriek, to scream Holding on to your body, Amma, Scream! Scream! Scream! Here…

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Decree

The government wishes all Tamils good rest, sweet sleep and recovery at Manik Farm. We have cleared the brush and carpenters are busy making coffins. Parasites will be snuffed out, no ifs or buts. Between asylum writs, and bribes paid to guards to keep family together, and diarrhoea, we will make the camp fit our Tamil village concept, nothing too overpopulated, but with banking facilities to store Thalis and other gold, just right for the new Tamil and his diminished circumstances nothwithstanding in ancestral Sinhala lands. Repost This Article

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Beauty

What beauty in camps? I sit in my favourite chair listening to Beethoven’s last sonata, slient breezes in time. to the music. My world creates a sonata The other shatters all possibility of one. Guarded, malnourished; the beauty of rescue: possible? loudspeakers are silent. Waiting for a pass, a nod, family member to utter their name, to go back home to farm, toil, feed the earth feel the breeze of their own sonatas. Beethoven calms me. My children, near. one dressed. Pretty. Ready for her first ‘mixed’ party. The smaller cuddles her father, night air brings comfort. Smells of food. Dinnertime. Civilized. Red wine. Nourishment. No death here. just beauty and dignity. Part of the Writers Under Siege collection on Groundviews. For more information, click here. Repost This Article

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About Groundviews

Located at the Centre for Policy Alternatives in Colombo, Sri Lanka, Groundviews is a citizen journalism website that uses a range of genres and media to highlight critical perspectives on governance, reconciliation, human rights, the arts and literature, democracy and other issues. The site has won two international awards, including the prestigious Manthan Award South Asia in 2009. The grand jury's evaluation of the site noted, "What no media dares to report, Groundviews publicly exposes. It's a new age media for a new Sri Lanka... Free media at it's very best!"

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