By Sunalie Ratnayake –

When leaves shudder, on a windy night,
Where the shimmering moon peeps through…
And the owl of the night makes a cautious move,
You are far, far away – yet so near…

When the ceiling fan, twirl the pages through,
Of newspapers on the glass-topped scruffy desk…
And the chewed-up pens stare from their verge,
Longing their common gnaw, during work at it’s best…

Picture frames hang, all around your office walls,
Dear ones smiling through casings of glass…
Your childhood snapshot, vivid out of all,
Tells you’re somewhere dear, and surpassed…

The passageway seem too bare,
Void of that two-inch footwear…
That otherwise would give a hastening walk,
Black, unrefined, yet potent, alerting staff folks…

Just the sound of that wader,
Said there’s stories so focal…
That needed to hit pages, their deadlines met,
Next day, became the “king’s” utter best pest…

The hassle and bussle, of the city may persist,
Each day unfolding miseries in a row…
The common-man, whom you saw mostly suffer,
Still aches the ‘acts’ of scoundrels, – ‘acts’ no more resisted…

The scoundrels as always flee,
Arraying  from citadel, to the street…
The “mammoth” burst in glee, while the “minute” burn in blaze,
You not being around – in someway, “both” remain at mere ease…

Downstairs in the press, newsprint rush through process,
It’s machinery operates with thy cause…
Suranimala no more, with mucky politics of distress,
As “State’s Machinery” operated with no flaws…

Suranimala, Suranimala… your column still wails,
The same grandiose effect, no longer thy holds…
“Unbowed and Unafraid”, Suranimala once stayed,
Until the day, amidst flowers, in a coffin he laid…

The biggest joke, was the humongous wreath,
That rushed with a tag, with “His Excellency’s” moniker…
The “Final-Ed” clearly states, the culprit of your last breath,
And here we go storming, with condolences so comical…

As another year goes by,
With no ‘Gatto’ from the ‘Fab’…
It’s pineapples you picked,
Reminds your childlike acts…
From cakes we brought in,
With the money you gave…
We celebrated birthdays,
Of your’s and the rest…
In the midst of key copies,
Lying at your desk…
Each day was a boogie,
We looked forward to take…

A boogie with challenges,
With meaning and reflection…
Those days bygone, are missed,
At it’s best…
Above all, it’s your absence,
That kills us all over, I bet…
Especially on your birthday,
You are lying deep at rest…

My voice trembles, like in no other day,
When I wish you ‘Happy Birthday’,
In a thought, far, far away…
That mingles in the air, and holds your trace,
Reminding me again, you are only taking a ‘break’…

The ‘break’ you forgot to ever, ever take,
On your mission on earth, to make it a far better place…
Happy Birthday Dear Lasantha ! – You are far, far away,
Yet you are near, and dear – In all hearts you ever graced …

Birthdays may come, and they may go,
Some may remember, and some not so…
Yet, the lessons of ‘print; and ‘life’ both alike,
What you taught us can never be departed from life…
Happy Birthday once again ! – I just hope you may hear,
You are far, far away – Yet so near !

[April 5, 2012]

*Sunalie Ratnayake is a Sri Lankan born journalist based in Los Angeles, who could be reached at   sunalie.secretandbeyond@yahoo.com