By Ranjini Obeyesekere –
Three Poems by Siri Gunasinghe – translated by Professor Ranjini Obeyesekere
The Water Buffalo
My beard on fire
in haste, I was running, running down in the dawn,
bearing the burdens of life
all on my back;
at the edge of the road, in a large clump of grass
like a fat merchant spread eagled on his easy-chair
I saw you lie.
and at the earth-shattering
battering of my feet
you did not even start.
Ears turned down;
my sky-thundering
lightning-like haste
did not surprise you.
Teeth unbrushed
face unwashed,
in the mountain’s moist lap
of lush marsh grass
mud splashed.
What if, like you
I too
could laze?
Tell me my buffalo,
you who can’t even stand
yes you, Reverend Sir!
Are you observing rites,
contemplating the impermanence of life,
belching with both eyes closed?
Or do you count beads
with each slow puff
of dilated nostril?
Like eye-flies slowly crawling
from a partly opened flower
are the thoughts that seem to teem
from those faintly twitching eyes;
what secret do they hold?
Head half-lifted up
spit drooling, lips that chap
like a toothless mouth chewing betel
all alone;
a lazy past was yours.
The full weight of earth and sky
bundled in one load
like a wisp of a cotton flake
you bear
on those handsome, upturned horns.
How do you do it
O buffalo?
You do not know of yesterday
nor have yet come to know today.
Tomorrow you know nothing of.
Undying time alone is yours.
You are my only idol
all in stone.
A Memorial
Forsaking me
leaving my limbs death-stiff
she left – disappeared –
went away;
and I became a prey
to a flock of wild-beast memories
a bloody prey.
The thick dark of time shrouds
but in the flickering light from my heart
her body glows
gleams before my eyes.
Like a cool streak of water
between rough rocks
she flows
soaking my heart.
The colour of clear skies is her.
The texture of trees and flowers is she.
All the colors of the world are her.
I struggle hard to shut her out
She lurks in the very lashes of my eyes.
The tough dry skin of forgetfulness
splits apart —
your eyes peer at me dear one.
I still see the trembling of your lips
as you embrace me.
The only happiness life has,
the one lovely object the world holds,
is she – companion of my loneliness –
vanished now;
the only woman who shared my loneliness.
Dirty Dishwater
Man’s mind is a kitchen
Learning, it’s dishwater.
I grovel, lapping it up.
Black crows flock
to drive me away.
It is not easy to escape.
Dishwater stagnates in the drain
with stale leftovers
scraped off broken plates.
No salt or flavor in it
nothing to fill one up.
Hurt by a hurled coconut shell
leg-lifted
yelping
I still cannot tear myself away
from that drain.
All that gave life
to a lifeless existence –
dishwater.
The only flavour
in a flavorless life –
stale food.
Plato. / February 18, 2015
So,he is like Pablo Neruda?
/
ramona therese fernando / February 18, 2015
Wonderful poems!
Questions:
1)Is the “beard on fire” animal/person, a beast of burden?
2) Does the stray dog finally connect with man through the kitchen, so it can get food, even through the dishwater refuse?
Wow: The tough dry skin of forgetfulness
splits apart —
/
Mallaiyuran / February 19, 2015
“You are my only idol”
The Water Buffalo poem is reminding me one of favorite, PBS’s song “Edho manithan piranthu vitan”.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8S8OdW7Y4Q
A Reality. But it hard to the man to accept.
/