Corona

CORONA
Hanging from a tree,
or a lab in the East,
she woke up
to show her dark face.
Across the great wall
she waltzed across,
deep into Europe
she did grace.
Over the big pond
she has flown over,
to the land
of the free and the brave.
Panic she has spread,
with chaos wrought,
sowing distress,
into mass graves.

Fazli / Mar 26, 2020

Feb Meeting

English Writers Group @The Wadiya

The monthly meeting was held on Feb 29, 2020 at 930am @The Wadiya

The following attended:-

Amar

Chandrika

Elmo Leonard

Fazli

Himangi

Jayanthi (host)

Kiara

Lakshmi

Madonna

Melinda

Nafisa

Neela

Nilanthi

Hansa (Nilanthi’s son, 11)

Pierangeli

Peter

Sakuntala (host)

Zainab Hussain (Asghars niece)

The meeting kicked off with several admin issues being addressed as follows:-

1.       No subscriptions to be levied starting 2020

2.       Contact Faith to determine the financial status (Fazli)

3.       Check with Lilamani re subscriptions collected for 2018/19 (Fazli)

4.       Prepare meeting schedule with attendance/hosting for the files (Fazli)

5.       Guests to pay for soft drinks at the meetings

6.       Impose a six (6) minimum attendance rule per year to keep members active and involved

7.       Invite members to submit more writings to be read and archived

8.       Plan a suitable literary reading event in collaboration with other literary organizations

9.       Open a joint bank account in personal names of two members to manage funds (Fazli/Nafisa)

10.   Revive the WAVES publication by requesting members to write and send articles for publication

Readings:

1.       Himangi: Two poems titled “Down Fielder Road” and “Song in the Wind”. The former, a very emotional description of returning to a place one loved before and the latter a poignant capture of the tragic Easter Sunday bombing

2.       Fazli: A reminiscence of the Royal-Thomian cricket match since childhood emphasizing the antics of the mischief made by the boys since the 60s in “Merry March Madness”

3.       Zainab: “The Unknown Presence” capturing the essence of the Universe and its many galaxies with a reminder that there may be alien beings on earth too with reference to Daemons, Rabisu and Jinns.

4.       Neela:  A poem titled “My Flute and I” relating the tale of a lost soul enjoying his flute in his loneliness

5.       Amar: An interesting account in verse of the tragedy of the recent war

6.       Elmo: A nine page, hand written, essay on politics and romance during the post idependence era

7.       Madonna: “Bees & Honey, Mosquitos & Blood”, an interesting essay on the honey bee and themosquito and what they offer us in life

8.       Kiara: Gave us a few verses titled “Remembering You” about a lost love and its ensuing sadness

9.       Melinda:  “Dr Ogaviz”, the tale of a cardio surgeon who perishes after suffering a heart attack when told about a fortune he was being offered for saving another life

10.   Peter:  Three (3) hilarious escapades of Peter in the bus

11.   Hansa: A little 11 year old boys (Nilanthi’s son) account of the “Tsunami” expressed with great emotion and simplicity

12.   Nilanthi:  Read out a story she had submitted to the 70 stories of Independence, titled “Radio”, that illuminated the agony of war

13.    Asghar: An account of death written, fiftenn years ago, in verse titled, “Like an Approaching Shadow”

14.   Lakshmi: “Catching the Podi Menike” a poem about the train

15.   Jayanthi: Shared a poem titled “I, Black” written by an African child and which wasnominated by the UN as the best poem for 2006

16.   Pierangeli: Read out a poem written by her nephew, Shane Rence (23), who is autistic. The verses titled, “Lovely girls on my mind” truly exposed the beautiful mind of the boy and what he had acquired through reading and understanding.

Refreshments were served plentifully and enjoyed by all present. A wonderful morning of prose and verse came to a close by noon.

Saffron Robes

I dreamt of saffron robes floating gently on water

Calm, smooth, soothing

Unruffled by the winds, unwavering against the waves

But saffron robes are on fire

Fire, they scream

As they run for cover

Trying to douse it first with clean water, then anything their flailing hands can grab

But the heat is growing

And smoke is swirling like an old man’s beard across the skies

Through the towns and into the villages

A fiery language that no one understands pounds the hot misty air

As the mighty dragon in saffron robes exhales

Yellow, orange and then red

As red as the rubies in its eyes

It stamps across the town in anger, waving its head, breathing fire

The saffron robes flying and flapping this way and that, fanning the flames

The city is now burning, grey ashes crumble

I wake up from my dream

of saffron robes floating gently in clear water

Encircling me in kindness, tolerance and maitri

I open my eyes and my world is on fire

A strong, engulfing, saffron-coloured fire

By Himangi Jayasundere

Merry March Madness

I was just 7 years old, in 1955, when I had the glorious opportunity to attend the first Royal-Thomian cricket match in my life. The ecstasy of preparing for the game was out of this world. We had to be clad in white shirt and shorts as members of the school boys tent. The only colorful attire we had on was the blue and gold flag.

The school bus took us to the Oval under the watchful eyes of our class teacher, Ms Dissanayake. We arrived before the match started and took our seats diligently, with the summer sun eating into our faces. Two days of fun, frolic, and fanfare, accompanied by cheers, jeers, hot lunch packs, ice cream, soft drinks, pineapple and gram.

As we moved up the ladder and entered College, the whole spectrum turned on its head. The year was 1960. Most of us were 12. The evening before the match day was an event not to be missed. Everyone gathered at the College gates on bicycles. Each bike had a blue and gold lantern hanging from each handle bar. An old crock truck filled with seniors led the procession. We took the route along Racecourse Avenue via Thurstan Road from the Flower Road circle all the way to Bambalapitiya junction and then back again to College via Reid Avenue. A “papare” band blared out its sounds on trumpet and percussion and people all along the streets gathered to watch us pass by. The feeling of being special was unimaginable.

A few years later we were “grown up” and mature to take the role of the so called “naughty” boys of big matches. Match morning kicked off with the boys, all clad in various forms of fancy dress, gathering at the gates to mount the old croc truck.  Some wore their sisters bra’s. Some in tail coats. The Muslims never forgot their Fez caps. The band played. The boys bellowed. First stop was at CMS Ladies College on Flower Road. The driver managed to take the truck inside the school. The girls were all excited and waving. Into the Principals room went a bunch of the mischievous. A few gathered flowers from the pots nearby. Up went the ;principal on the shoulders of the boys. “She’s a jolly good fellow …” and “Hip hip hooray” cluttered the air. The flowers were handed over to her and we had to scoot before the cops came in. The girls were ecstatic. The Cinnamon gardens Police was alerted. We were hauled into the station, warned, and despatched with no serious consequences. Everyone in town knew what the Royal Thomian was all about. Even politicians were great fans of the match. Since that fateful day, CMS Ladies College closed school on the first day of the match, which was always a Friday.

Off to Saraswathy Lodge at Bambalapitiya for breakfast. Dosa and Sambhar with Vadai. Not everyone paid as they chose to scoot off into the truckwhile the waiters were looking the other way. Then, a bee line to the Oval. The lyrics of the baila’s sung needed much censorship. But then, the censor board folks were at the match already. So, what the heck?

Two days of festivities. Rumor had it that even our fathers did the same. No one really cared if we won or lost. It was all about having a great time together. The tradition lives on to date. May the best team win. R*O*Y*A*L “Royal!”                                                                         

Fazli /Feb 2020

Songs in the Wind

Sweet singing voices come to me

In the silence

Drifting in the breeze of a curfew night

Little boys, young girls, men, women, elderly folk

Singing

Voices raised in melodious oneness

Fleeting joyous choral refrains

Briefly filling the empty night

Then faint and inaudible

I think I hear them say … “We are alright …”

“Don’t worry, it will be ok one day … you’ll see …”

As the ocean breeze gently gathers the music

Back to its bosom

I wonder,

Were their voices raised in song that day

When they were silenced in church, on Easter Sunday

- Himangi Jayasundere/Feb 2020