Sharing Grief
Throw everyone’s problem
In a pile on a Table
Soon you will take yours back;
Listen to the woes
Of grief stricken people
Help lessen their stack;
A grief one has shared
Is a pain that is halved
Help them to stay on track;
Actions, they speak
Louder than words
Slowly healing the crack.
Fazli Sameer / Sat Feb 24 2024
The 2023 Xmas Lunch was held on Dec 16 at the Beach Wadiya with 13 attending. Lunch was sumptuous as always and the games and music went down very well. We wish everyone a Very Happy Xmas and New Year 2024.
Crimson Rose
“The Arts are vain,
Naive and ungrateful”
He stated sardonically
I remained silent,
Gazed into the abyss
Of his Jade green eyes
Deprived of joy and hope
I recalled the melancholic truth
About a boy who resembled him,
A student who dwelled in self-delusion,
Oblivious of a Nightingale's sacrificial love
For only the Arts can truly comprehend
The intricate elements of life,
Our impermanence in the fabric of times
And the essence of sincere love
Estranged from the student
Of objective reality,
All embedded in the thorns
Of a crimson rose
Zainab Hussein
May 13 2023
Room for Rent
I have a room for rent
Never occupied
Not much sunlight
But cosy for the right one
I have a room
It's a little dark
A swirling, well-like place
But a quiet one
I have a room
Seen pictures too
I've never been there
But the doctor says
It looks mostly fine
By Himangi Jayasundere
May 13 2023
Caged Freedom
I am a bird in a cage
Where no one wil hurt me
They look at me with rage
This path you may not agree
This is still my world,
Can't you please let me be?
I came in willingly
A choice, knowingly
I am still dreaming,
Convincing myself
I am not lost
Surely, this dream will last
In my cage, I behold bars
Believing they are stars
Shining bright in the sky
Has my life been a lie?
Am I so blind?
I cannot know why
Will you listen to my plea?
Within this cage, I feel free
Amidst laughter and rage
In the confines of this cage
A thousand miles I have flown.
Why am I so alone?
Amar Gunatilleke
April 2023
The Indenting Agent
Rasheed Appa, my maternal grandpa, ran
his own indenting agency, Kingston Agencies, located at our home in
Bambalapitiya. He was doing pretty well with many foreign products under his
belt and tons of containers that he received through the Colombo harbor on a
regular basis. Our garage, in the backyard, was always stacked with crates of
Pearl Barley, Quaker Oats, Soft Toys, and whatnot, waiting for wholesalers to
call over and pick them up.
Appa
never went to University but the immaculate knack he had of doing business
with, both, local buyers and foreign manufacturers, would have made the Harvard
Business School blush. Math, Accounting and typing were certainly not his cuppa
tea and so it was outsourced to his two sons, my maternal uncles, and then
later on to my bro and me. Grandma was called Umma.
Appa:
“Those Dutch food manufacturers are planning a visit to Ceylon to meet us and
assess our future capability to act as their agents here. We must put on a good
show.”
Umma:
“We can refurbish the verandah, office room, and living room and convert it
into a makeshift office to satisfy them. We have a large house with a big yard
in the front and back. Anyone who is not impressed with this outfit won’t find
another for sure.”
She
was a very wise old lady, who hailed from the very well-known and famous,
“Jemmi” family in Colombo. She used to read lots of stuff in English and Arwi (Arabic/Tamil)
and relate many stories to us when we were little. Her memory on genealogy was
also overwhelming. Her best characteristic was her tremendous patience which I
try so hard to emulate, yet with not much success.
And
so the Dutchmen came.
A
limo was arranged and sent to the airport to pick them up and transported to
our home in style. The place was nattily furnished, with all our home furniture
neatly arranged to look like a posh office, of course, with a typewriter,
Secretary, and clerical staff all dressed to kill. Appa sat behind his big
mahogany desk like the Mudalali he was. Sir Razik Fareed, his maternal cousin,
was also invited to be a part of the business meeting that ensued. Appa felt it
would add more weight to his enterprise with a British Knight around. Our
domestics were all kitted up to kill and served the refreshments. Homemade pastries
(short eats as we chose to call them), Ice Cream and Orange Barley.
My
maternal uncle, spruced up in a black bow tie, sat behind a desk, looking very
much like a manager. The discussion ensued. The Dutchmen were very impressed.
Grandpa
won the deal and his agency contract was renewed without much fuss. That’s how
international trade was done in the 50s.
I come from a Paradise
I come from a Paradise who wanted freedom,
But having obtained it will not give it to others;
I come from a Paradise who preach democracy,
But only want it for their fellow families;
I come from a Paradise who cry equality,
But ensure that some are more equal than others;
I come from a Paradise who are always demanding,
But not willing to give to those who are crying.
I come from a Paradise who are supposed to be
literate,
But will not do anything until the stars foretell them.
I come from a Paradise who vote for their fancy,
But will jump ship quickly to fulfil their needs.
I come from a Paradise who want to ban slaughter,
But still want their “mussplate” when drinks are being ordered.
I come from a Paradise who offer rice from the moon,
But only a QR code will feed your kids hunger.
I come from a Paradise who bow at the altar,
But show no concerns to the poor on the street.
I come from a Paradise who beg, borrow and steal,
But when it comes to business they are all making
deals.
I come from a Paradise who preach compassion,
But at the end of the road there’s only depression.
I come from a Lanka where the people believe,
That even if the ship sinks, the band must play on.
Jan 28, 2023
