English is my Muse

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My Muse you are; you I truly adore,
But I love you not, for I feel you not,
I feel only for her, for only her I love,
She’s my love; you’re just my Muse.

Sure, she’s poor, yet she’s a beauty,
A delicate flower brooks often wear,
Passers-by fear for her beauty is rare,
So she’s my love; you’re just my Muse.

A beauty in Baikal slopes I dropped;
A primrose next-door, sadly I missed,
For promises I had tempted me a lot,
Yet she’s my love; you’re just my Muse.

Though a Trojan horse you really are,
I’m faithful to you, as was Paris to her,
Ships are ready to be sailed for you,
Yet she’s my love; you’re just my Muse.

Copyright © Sept. 19, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

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Pluri-hive of love

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In my lovely hive of pluri-love,
Men shall be the worker bees,
Whereas women shall duly rule
All bees of this pluri-hive of love.

In every hive of this lovely hive,
Three worker bees shall love
Their lovely queen of pluri-love,
Who loves or withhold her love.

Hives can be made with clay;
Men shall only a loin freely wear,
Yet, their chest they keep bare;
Its queen can wear or stay bare.

She will live in her palace of clay,
Which each man can duly reach
with new moon to serve her love,
Yet she may love or deny her love.

When entering her manor of love,
His loin shall lie on latch of her door,
So the other two lovers may know
Pluri-Queen is in a moment of love.

Copyright © September 16, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Cannon seekers

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The one
with the cannon,
(the militarily stronger)
self-declared,
in his self-written ‘history’
(by hiring poets and painters)
to be the civilized, ideal,
superior and the perfect;
the one without a cannon
was considered as ‘lack’,
so inferior,
and was said to feel,
as Freud himself did,
from ‘castrated effect’.

He still says she is so jealous
as NNSs often do, of his tongue,
to own which they both
do need to complete
paramitas,’
which is as ideal as
Plato’s republic.

Tell me not what they lack,
tell me, yet, what they own;
tell me what you lack, instead,
for you are just a unicorn
(‘mono-‘, just ‘mono-‘
is an apt modification
for all you have)
whereas they have two
or sometimes more,

so in their history,
your possession
shall be only a
useless
bump.

Copyright © September 14, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Entrance and Exit

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The child and the old
are not two but one.

One enters; the other exits,
so they lie on a parallel line:
the first at the entrance
and the latter at the exit,
viewing yet not knowing
they are just the same
though they wriggle
at two opposite axes of the line.

One crawls, then kneels,
then rises but only to fall;
the other just bends, and
bends, then crawls and
finally, creeps through the exit,
the tragic denouement,

which the child may choose,
but he avoids only to learn,
hiking through a crooked ascend
through trial and error,
the error of his wanton choice,
and then rolls stumbling
down a steep precipice,

but only to the opposite axis,
the exit that he should exit
in fours, which he avoided first.

Copyright © September 9, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Wilderness within

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I looked for the one so unclean
That often steals into my garden,
Which I want to keep ever clean,
And grows wildly growing weeds.

He’s grown wildly growing weeds:
Anger, greed, lust and boredom,
Which are now knee-high grown
In my garden I want to look clean.

I looked for all around my garden,
Friends, kins and next-door men
All I did smell looking for the man
who grows wildly growing weeds.

I have come to the turning point,
Where I trace a familiar footprint,
“Find within” tells this great hint,
“The one that grows wild weeds”.

Copyright © September 6, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Love stumbled him down

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It’s tragic when,
From mountain height,
Pride stumbles men down,
Anger stumbles them down,
Lust stumbles men down,
Though stars they are bright,
From mountain height
Into gutters so rotten.

How tragic should
It be when love,
Love stumbles men down,
Love stumbles them down,
From mountain height
To stinking gutters?

From mountain height
Love stumbled one down,
Love stumbled him down,
A star though he was so bright,
Into a gutter deep down
Since a princess he found,
A princess worm so bright
In that gutter deep down.

Copyright © September 5, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
(Isurumuniya Lovers, Sri Lanka) Credit of image to the rightful owner

Contradictions

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Is death so sad and birth so joyous;
does birth give mirth, and death just pain?
yet,
in birth and death, contrasts I see,
for one does cry, others do smile.

One’s misery is another’s mirth;
victory for one is defeat for another.
The born does cry; his dad does smile;
her mom does cry while the dead does smile.

In a naming ceremony,
a man first cried, and then he smiled;
a message one received,
which made her smile,
yet soon she cried.

A reality
in such contradictions
is
one comes alone; s/he suffers alone;
s/he cries alone, and s/he goes alone.

 

Copyright © August 3, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

I read her eyes

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Look at her eyes directly,
Read the tale her eyes tell
And tell the world her tale,
So her pain they may feel.

No anger I see on her eyes,
Or hard feeling on her face;
Only one thing her eyes seek:
“Will you spare my son’s life?”

She offered us her son’s milk,
So our sons look ever glee;
Let’s look at her tearful plea:
“Will you spare my son’s life?”

She’s ready to offer her life,
Limb by limb, or whole at once,
Yet she’s one plea on her eyes:
“Will you spare my son’s life?”

Look at her eyes directly,
Read the tale her eyes tell
And tell the world her tale,
So her pain they may feel.

Copyright © September 2, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Tell us, ants

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Tell us dear ants, how you’d run
One after another in a raw
And work for a common goal,
keeping unity among yourselves.

After achieving your goal, tell us,
If you would stay very cool
With no fight to claim the credit
And live calm without any profit.

Tell us, if you’d live together there
In one house as we often do here;
If your house’s made of clay alone
As we prefer doing with ours here.

Tell us, how you’d elect your queen;
If she would work with you all
Or just stays home with her legs up
And presses more taxes on you.

Tell us, if you’d watch mega dramas;
if they are made in your own place;
and if food prices rise sky high
while you kiss the stars on the screen.

Continue reading

Wild Love

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I love you —
I love you wild;
I love you in all my heart.
The laity should not know our love;
They cannot understand our love,
For our love is so wild.

I loved to play with you;
I loved to play in you;
You know how wild our love was.
At dusk, I left your lap,
yet to come back to you at dawn;
So wild our love was.

You were our Sherwood,
And we often played ‘Robinhood’
Though I preferred to play Saradiel,
Who himself played ‘Robinhood’.
At dusk, we were kept behind bars,
Yet at dawn, we played ‘Robinhood’.

Only you know how wild I felt
When iron men fell your guards,
Stripped your fine clothes,
And raped you so mad,
In quest of treasure
To quench their wild pleasure.

Now you’ve been abandoned,
So, you have grown so wild,
But I cannot see your beauty;
I cannot play with you, play in you,
For there are seven sees between us
And my body is not so wild now

Though my love is still wild
And I love you, wild.

 

Copyright © August 23, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay