This piece is based on Wessanthara Jataka tale that narrates how King Wessanthara (Buddha in one of his previous births) gave away all his material belongings (including kingship) and later even his wife and children as meritorious acts. Jina (short name for Krishnajina) and Jaliya were King Wessanthara’s daughter and son.

This piece is based on Wessanthara Jataka tale that narrates how

Wessanthara act

I’ll Quit the Books

Double I’ll grow, he says, if quit the books,
Throw the books and head towards brooks,
I will quit the books, leave this forlorn queue,
Rush to a wood, and lie beneath a yew.

I’ll quit this queue that runs to a bookshop,
Retreat to a wood and dwell on a hilltop.
I’ll quit this bookshop, the dusty graveyard,
The rusty bookstore, the tempting junkyard.

I’ll quit the books and retreat to a wood,
Sit beneath trees, teachers in my childhood,
Lie beside brooks and listen to their hymns,
The blissful tunes that finetuned my whims.

In green wood, the “Green Ever” bookstore,
I’ll be merrier than in this junkyard, for
Double heart will grow, brighter mind will glow,
Softly the wind will blow; to a wood I’ll go.

Inspired by William Wordsworth’s “The Tables Turned”

Copyright © March 12, 2021 – Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Time treads downward

Time treads downward tick-ticking;
Upward he walks to the woodland,
To hermits’ “Evergreen” bookstore,
To observe, to feel, and to be with.

Dreamy murmuring streams hum;
And mystic tip-toeing spirits hiss him;
Soothe the sweeping, balmy breezes;
And plays in his swelling heart peace.

Nuts dive in honey on his leafy plate;
Pages flip through on his rocky bed,
Owls anoint with lullabies his ears;
And time, through his grip, slips him.

Copyright © Feb. 23, 2021, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Autumn: Tragic Fall


Sprang open Spring a box of rainbow rains,
And Summer rains led to your gold grains;
Juice oozes from your yellow, mellow grapes,
You play a kingly show with curvy shapes.

Morning mist floats, dancing through trees;
Fragrance of fruits sails, prancing in breeze;
Bees buzz and birds hum, granting us bliss,
And night flurry flows hissing me with a kiss.

Fall, after a great rise, comes a worst fall,
And shows your fall my mirror on the wall;
Green turns into gold and now into grey;
I hear a grown-up lamb’s cry from the brae.

Copyright © September 14, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Cobra Kite


on high
To flight or to fight
-In such height –
The gusty wind, the hot daylight,
Snake charmer below, quite right,
Birds that fly mimicking with delight
Or to freely, with arms open, try,
While flirting rosy clouds, to fly
-In blue sky-
And gleefully cry
With no sigh
Are What he can try.
He does fly
He chooses to fly
-In blue sky-
With delight,
To the tune
Of kite
who pulls

Copyright © September 12, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

A Romantic Evening


Twilight – the whip-cracker of – Night
…………..Reaches the beach;
Sky sets – Venus – the evening light,
And to welcome her lover – Sun,
She wears a rosy, glassy gown.

Flirted by her rosy, glassy gown,
Sea furls his knightly, vaulting waves
…………and he does crown
Them with flickering, fiery ringlets
And sets a royal bed for the union.

Flirted by her rosy, glassy gown,
Sea-gulls glare; they miss their watch;
Whales stare through … scarlet screen;
All miss their work; all stop their work,
And leaving world to them, all….go home.

Copyright © September 11, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

If I ruled the world

If I ruled the whole world,
I would have Covid hurled

From all the four continents
And boost our own confidence,

And pack the leading politicos,
Who sat polishing their toes,

To an asylum to count stars
And sling their hearts at Mars;

I’d sit with you in my royal court
And have fun of their frantic sport.

Then I would gather all money
And give equally to each bunny,

And command all men to learn
To refine love in a poetry firm,

To spray love on withering plants,
And duly attend to innocent ants.

Finally, I’d crown my starry girl
And cradle her as a divine pearl.

Copyright © August 25, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Her Heart is My Sanctuary


I floated fatigued as a ship with none to steer,
Banging, and crashing with no sanctuary near,

And then she dawned blooming: a crimson rose,
Soothing with an angelic smile my heart that froze.

Heart leapt sensing her move as a gentle breeze,
Glancing at me like the moon, through the trees.

In the morn, she sunned my cold, snowy world;
In the eve, my soul froze when darkness furled.

I stood wriggling and adoring her lovely heart
Waiting for a welcome call to my piece of art

Soon lovely petals opened and let me sail in;
Her heart is my sanctuary: my greatest win.

Copyright © August 18, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Time for us to go merry-go-round


You are in your prime, and I’m in my clime;
Why sweetie in twenty then we waste this time?

Come, dance; we can gently our pleasures hound,
For here’s a time for us to go merry-go-round.

Run around, and you’ll see how flowers bloom
And drones fly around wanting for some room;

Birds, herds, and all love while their time is high,
So come sweetie; in delay, our prime will sigh.

Moon smiles and night palls a velvet blue veil
And owls and curlews sing in a choric wail;

Xylophones and cymbals bounce for our dance,
So come sweetie; let’s dive in a hypnotic trance.

Copyright © August 16, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Psychic woes

Flutters a crocodile gecko his thick-edged tail,
And licks his sticky lips with his twisted tongue;
His eyes ablaze with fire, and in his abdomen,
Rotten corpses stand erect like haunting tombs.

And now – withering thuds of weighty strides
Drown the boulder, the child’s hideout,
And a wretch with a deep cut on his right jaw
Towers, beclouding him like a deformed ghost.

A tender home gecko breaks his own tiny tail
As a trick to escape from Crocodile’s grip,
Yet Crocodile lands on the tailor-less soul,
Seizes him by his neck, and they wrestle and fall.

Wresting – rustling stops, and sky stands higher;
Nature’s slow somber music laments in a choir.


Copyright © August 12, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay



I wonder when alone why we’ve been blessed with twos:
Two ears, two eyes, two hands, two feet and two shoes;
Ah, is that not a miracle?

Two eyes help us to view well the world and its wonders;
Cyclops had only one, and he committed cynical blunders;
Ah, vision is the pinnacle!

Two ears hear around us as guards and report all news
I lost one for a second and lost equally all views
Ah, is that not clinical?

We buy before each season ends, a pair of fancy shoes
My friend lost one and he walks now as if he has had booze
Ah, is that not satirical!

My eyes conspired with my heart to hook another heart
I dropped a note of love to own that precious art
Ah, songs she sings so lyrical!


Copyright © August 9, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Little Man


One murky morning in early seventies,
Little Man, an eight-year old
Scrawny little child,
stole into an abandoned govt estate
with his two fellow thieves
and climbed a coconut tree,
for hunger flooded
his head.

That was his first space visit,
and it was not to spy on Moon
or to bring rice from Saturn,
yet to share with his two brothers
the remaining two young coconuts,
for he heard their bellies growl.
His left hand gripped the tree trunk
and the right twisted the first coconut
or tickled the nut behind,
and the nut smiled, hustled,
leapt down,
and then rolled

and knelt at the feet of a village bandit.
Either to snatch the coconut
or just to hear the child’s cry,
bandit picked the coconut.
Hunger clouded Little Man’s smile
and he said, “keep it, or I’ll fall
and die”.
The man was a bandit, yet he threw
the coconut and limped
down the sloppy land,
letting Little Man
win the game,

yet it was too late.
Either the child let his hand go
or he could not hold the tree trunk anymore,
he slipped down
and hugged the craggy mound.


Newton Ranaweera, July 28, 2020
Image source: Pixabay