30 November, 2020

Blog

I Dream Of A Country

By Sunalie Ratnayake

I dream of a country;

where the soothing breeze may kiss my face with all its true candor,

a breeze that shall pacify the frames of a thousand shattered lives,

perhaps even more – tens of thousands so dear,

lives crushed by myriad jingoists of the hour,

and that breeze, I dream to have never seen,

the two-faced, unmindful culprits insincere,

the ones who have wounded every notion of humanity, through the façade of command,

seeming to continue their filthy drive, till they suck every bit of gore,

leaving the everyday-citizen, in the dark, as a sheer skeleton bone,

I dream such dominants to vanish, into mere thin overhead air,

but also worry, their malice may loam, once a clean and comforting midair.

 

I dream of a country;

where the trees of coconut, booming bunches of yield,

forming arcs that aim the briny blue sea,

such contours and dimensions of nature’s flair,

as they swing to and fro, swiping the water’s rim,

to croon the melodies of ten-thousands of tales,

indescribable, concealed, conveniently wrapped-up in an era bygone,

in the least, I dream for the saplings to remain,

holding witness to unsettled spiteful mortal pain.

 

I dream of a country;

where the golden fields of paddy shall behold – with its cumbersome grains impregnated and bold,

the tales of gloom, of thy farmers jinxed and sore – with no names, no titles, no revenue, no homes,

their spouses and daughters, sons, kith and kin – the inheritors of this curse, a livelihood deficient in gains,

with no retort for them to even dimly sustain,

yes, in a country as such, I dream and I dream,

for the fields to chant loud, let thy voices echo,

to the bearers of office, till their lobes would explode – till their guilt may galore,

the tales of those who gave life,

to the field’s grandeur,

now, the same fields of paddy, that saw sunshine in their grower’s hands,

brazenly confined to a pictorial backdrop,

of a movie, a visual in goggle-box – God only knows,

while the farmer’s retort remain suicidal thoughts,

as the grains go rotten inside dripping carryalls,

I dream for this shocking plight of the provider of our diet – to be swiftly reformed,

before more suicides are caught,

the sharecropper who should otherwise be festooned by us all.

 

I dream of a country;

where no goons shall disrupt amity, by applying their kangaroo law,

for simply being ‘minister-sons’ of identical louts – trading drugs at midnight galore,

with a ‘shameless citizen’, the so-called ‘First’ – brazenly flouting these nauseating flaws,

for, all in all their closets rattle loud, with the skeletons of tainted eons,

yet the voters they take for repeated fleeting ‘joy-rides’ – with assured potential and more,

for a moment I wonder – are people stupid to the core,

or are they helpless in treacherous claws ?

having to stomach gobbledygook by the ones in command – the dumbest we’ve seen in spans,

I dream of such goons, disgusting to the core, vaporize with no trace at all,

yes, the ones never stepped-in, or ever seen a board, or a wall of a school, yet though,

has taken the country to their hands of foul, dictating terms on edified souls,

I dream of an era, like the fresh morning dew,

where such scandalous rogues shall take the place fit for them souls,

if at all they are worth to be borne on the earth,

of an island that once stood tall.

 

I dream of a country;

where the people aren’t misled,

constantly, in prolonged frames in time,

disguising the horror of billions and trillions – in loans by the global-wide sharks,

with the mask of development vehemently robed – in the minds of lesser-informed folks,

while the reality is certainly not the case of building – but drowning the island evermore,

until the nation in complete, shall be mortgaged away – to the snoops as their tactics may triumph,

in no time the hegemony would vanish away – with their commissions too heavy to carry away,

while the blameless natives, the average ones – will take much longer to even grasp the jigsaw,

I dream of a country where double-dealing as such,

shall never witness daylight, let alone the calm shades of night.

 

I dream of a country;

where rights may exist,

at least the rudimentary kind,

for its citizenry to be,

always well-informed,

with the right to enquiry,

of those liable folks,

where ‘truth-discoursed-media’ is a much cherished source,

not a throng with bogus labels forced,

as ‘traitors’, by the oppressive force.

I dream, I dream and I dream a stiff dream,

for a country where critics – considered no threat to the throne,

but a national mammon, a pertinent dais,

where truth shall unveil, with no fear of slashed throats,

in-spite-of grave stances – where boldness galore,

a place where a journalist could roam with no mourns,

a place free to condemn mishaps of powerful blokes,

yet not be murdered on the street as morning may approach.

 

I dream of a country;

where ‘human rights’ hold, a vital and central need,

not confined to a certain breed,

omitted from another cast or creed,

where a/c rooms fill with bottomless greed,

been a spectacle to make ends meet,

but rather an executed essential tool,

where everyone abide by the rules,

a uniform notion being put into place,

and no ‘effective’ may slip through loopholes,

where no one is above the law.

 

I dream of a country;

where women’s rights soar,

not as reason for revel, when a rape is been caused,

when child abuse, whippings, domestic violence upsurge,

cozy chambers get filled of red-lipstick-womenfolk,

they call themselves ‘activists’, for the voiceless as they say,

yet, they only target their own schemata and fame,

in a day or two, a week, a month or so,

no one stands-up for the needy, the victims abandoned,

and no longer known,

so-called activists disappear like hasty clouds caught in gust,

notions as such should be condemned to the core,

while I dream of a country, where all rights are preserved,

would it be human rights, women’s right, children’s rights or other.  

 

I dream, I dream and I dream through the night,

sometimes in daylight, with constant delight,

yearning for a country, I could call by its name,

with pride, with drive, with sensation – not disgrace,

not a ‘madhouse’ of abundant dishonorable fakes,

those who have already shattered a huge stake,

I dream that someone would keep a giant step,

to save my country from these imps with no shame,

the cold-blooded murderers who have taken control,

of every inch possible, every shrub, every stone.

 

I dream of a country;

a country I could call my own and with pride,

where freedom does not limit to a war-less somnolent night,

but a place where freedom to be human shall reside,

to speak, to sleep, to eat and even daydream,

without belts tightened, and no throats dreadfully squeezed,

but where wrongdoers end up, as convicts locked-up,

not the victims ridiculed, as the felons hop, being freed,

such are my dreams of a country yet to be freed.

[Inspired by Meena Kandasamy’s ;  “I Dream Of An English”]

*Sunalie Ratnayake is a Sri Lankan Journalist based in USA. She could be reached at ; sunalie.secretandbeyond@yahoo.com

 

 

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    I Have A Dream (with apologies to Martin Luther King)

    I have a dream that one day Jilmart Island will rise up and live out the true meaning of MY Chinthanaya: “I PresiDunce Percy Jilmart Bean hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created subservient to Me, and my family of 300+.”

    I have a dream that one day on the red hills of GeorgiJilmart, the sons of former Tourists and the sons of former Tourist Rehabilitators will be able to sit down together at the table of Jilmarthood.

    I have a dream that one day even the state of MississippiWaikkal, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of One Family Rule.

    I have a dream that my three sons Ipang, Opang and Japang will one day live in a nation where Jilmartians will be judged by their ties to MY Family and not be judged by the color of their skin or by the content of their character.

    I have a dream today for tomorrow and another 2500 years and more! Ha…ha…ha…
    I have a dream that one day, down in AlabamaWaikkal, with its humanitarian racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “Maathrooboomeyaa” and “One country One people” — one day right there in AlabamaWaikkal little Tranquil boys and Tranquil girls will be able to join hands with little Jilmart boys and Jilmart girls as sisters and brothers of one father. That’s ME!

    I have a dream today!

    And if Jilmart Island is to be a great nation, this must become true.

    And so let ‘One Family Rule’ ring from the prodigious hilltops of New HampshireWaikkal.

    Let ‘One Family Rule’ ring from the mighty mountains of New YuckWaikkal.

    Let ‘One Family Rule’ ring from the heightening Allegheniesthotta of PennsylvaniaWaikkal.

    Let ‘One Family Rule’ ring from the snow-capped Rockies of ColoradoWaikkal.

    Let ‘One Family Rule’ ring from the curvaceous slopes of CaliforniaWaikkal.

    And when this happens, when we allow ‘One Family Rule’ to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, from every government office we will be able to speed up that day when all of MY children, MY Family of 300+, MY henchmen, MY hangers on, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Jilmart spiritual:
    Free at last! Free at last!
    Thank Almighty PresiDunce PresiDunce Percy Jilmart Bean, We Are Free At Last! :)

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    Sunalie,

    Brillient piece!!! loved it.
    You are truly gifted. keep up the good work.

    Gwogz

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    How could such a extreme kind of over blown wrongs and pessimism come from a heart which is supposed to radiate genuine feelings?
    Heart twisted by bad dreams or desire to screw things up for the mother country?
    Or twisted by listening to LTTE rumps too much?
    Or just to show the world that how beautiful the heart is?
    Whatever it is, do not go to extremes because it is not good for any heart …

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    That was really brilliant Sunalie!

    Anandi from Connecticut

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    Whatever he chopped you. It was stepped on!

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    “Drowning the Island evermore until the nation is mortgaged away” is fait accompli for some years now. Who owns the country now – the Chinese? Indians? USA? IMF/WB or those from whom we borrowed to the hilt. While this is debatable what is not is we do not own the country anymore – strictly speaking. So, my dear, it will take a long while for you and me to claim with satisfaction “this is a country I could call my own with pride”

    What is curious though is, while your poetic thoughts encapture much of the lament we have been collectively through for many decades, what is missing is mention of the suffering of an entire Nation of a minority community – that nonetheless caught the attention of the entire world. A community, mostly of civilians, upon whom the armed might of over 400,000 were unleashed.
    A community where hundreds of thousands live under trees today whereas their homes, possessions and all are under seized military might under such fatures as HSZ and so on. These homes are still denied even after the intervention of the Supreme Court – 3 years after “the war” is something the world community is harping on. How did this escape your bleeding poetic heart?

    Senguttuvan

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    Dear Senguttuvan,
    I usually never comment on websites, or articles or any form of writing on the internet whatsoever, and especially NEVER on my own writings. Therefore, this indeed is my first ever instance to do so.
    The mere reason remains utterly important to me, which is to clear your doubt, as per your comment above.
    If I may say so, the POEM has STARTED WITH, and the entire FIRST TWO STANZAS are apparently dedicated to whom you thought that never captured, or perhaps slipped through my poetic thoughts. The reality is quite the opposite of what you may have believed to be, hence this comment.
    Moreover, perhaps it may have been slightly hard to comprehend my versus on same, (the first two). Yet my heart knows whom I dedicated those two verses to, besides they remain the “opening” of this piece of writing. Hope this clarification was helpful.
    Thank you & God bless !
    SR.

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