Dr Vimala
Asger
Saku
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Dr Vimala
Asger
Saku
no lullabies, just circuits sighing,
warm liquid cradling,
soft as amnesia.
Where, futures float,
tiny fists unfurling like temple flowers,
umbilical cords replaced by usb cables,
feeding data and milk, through pipettes, in equal measure.
No mummy’s breath,
no whispered name carried through pain,
only sterile hands, dressed in immaculate white, adjusting
the temperature of tomorrow.
They say it’s progress,
no hunger, no harm,
no heartbreak in delivery,
just the future, on demand.
Until the perfect storm
rips out the oxygen from their lungs.
-fs Oct 13 2025-
[credit to Carmel Miranda for her amazing story on which these lines are penned]
Ah, what a tender mirror your lines hold,
a
life charted not by maps but by the rhythm of becoming.
Each
decade a stanza,
each
line a breath of memory,
a
song of innocence folding into wisdom.
I
hear the laughter in the early steps,
sticky
fingers, unsteady but unstoppable.
Then
the pulse of youth,
that
great rehearsal for reality,
how
we fumble through love, ambition, and loss,
believing
every turn is forever.
The
middle years rush in like city traffic,
horns,
deadlines, grocery lists,
children
asking, “Why?” and time whispering, “Now.”
And
yet, even in the noise,
we
plant gardens, some in wet soil,
some
in warm hearts that outlive us.
By
the time the pace softens,
we
see it all differently;
how
the striving was only practice
for
the art of letting go.
So
yes,
to
the seniors, and to the child still inside all of us,
to
the decades we have built, and the ones that may still remain,
let’s
raise a glass of EGB
to
the simple, cosmic wonder
of
having lived at all.
Fazli
Sameer
Oct
12 2025
Collecting
goodwill, pride and spoiling.
Giving
joy with everything
That’s
said or done, though unwitting.
Seconds:
attitudes and fears,
Triumphs,
tragedies and cheers.
Stretching,
hoping, dreams and tears
While
setting up for later years.
Thirds:
school’s out, job’s in, and, oh!
Is
this the rest of life? Oh! Oh!
Morning:
jams and evening: slow,
And
weekends always on the go!
Fourths:
career, perhaps a spouse,
And
children, too, and a car and a house.
Sports
matches, parties and crowds
Dull
moments? Are you serious?!!!!!!
Fifths:
university looms large,
And
bills and costs: what a barrage!
Ailments
enter, take center stage,
And
we start to bemoan our age!
Sixths:
as life slows down, we find
A
deeper, greater heart and mind
Grew
out of all we’ve left behind
So,
we were wiser all this time . . .
So,
to our elders wherever,
They
be and also however,
Appreciation
failing never,
For
structuring our lives’ endeavour!
Sandra Fernando
12th
Oct. 2025, Kalubowila, Dehiwela
Knock on
Wood
Befuddled minds walking,
A wolf baying, at the full moon;
Black cats crossing,
A broken mirror,
Seven years of pain;
No head bath, on Tuesdays,
Salt spills over, quick toss it back;
Shadows fall, luck turns bad;
Knock on wood, touch the charm,
Shun the evil, untold harm;
Living by signs of celestial orbs,
Chasing phantoms, pillar to post;
The ladder leans, they step aside,
Reason fades, in fear they hide;
What of truth, where has it gone?
To darkened corners, away, forlorn;
In the grip of myth they behold,
Selling their sense, losing their soul;
Clinging hard to fables untold,
Believing in wives’ tales of old;
Dancing with dread in twilight’s glow,
Reason vanishes silliness grows;
Offering flowers, jewels and gold,
Hoping for rewards from myths and bones;
Common sense gone, intelligence sold,
Man sinks into his own black hole.
Hearts trapped and chained by fear,
Brainwashed by the superstitious seer;
In absurdities minds are blinded,
While truth is clear, unchained, refined.
Oct 17 2024