‘Prize Skills’

I know he croaks, croaks and croaks.
Like a croaker on a rainy day he talks;
He croaks, and I hear his prolonged croak,
Yet why dry dung his throat does choke?

Croak! I know, his croaking is a flaw,
But another’s flaw now begins to glow;
Croak! Croak! I do hear his guttural croak,
Yet why dry poo his throat does choke?

Whizz… a bloodhound flies sky-bound.
There! a dead swan thuds on the ground;
A king a wanton archer inaptly did crown;
Aha! this monk now proves king a clown.


Copyright © April 15, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

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Divine sprinkler

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Had you met this dying tree
this old tree, this bald tree
who has lost his sap of love,
love for blooming fruits
yesteryear, at his youth!!

He would have born fruits:
ripe, juicy, oozing fruits,
more trees from those fruits,
green, blooming trees
to double the beauty of earth.

But you’ve met this tree today,
at his old, bald age
and sprinkled divine droplets,
and he vows to birth fruits
though not like at his youth.

Copyright © April 1, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Lovers’ farewell

Culture screens his eyes,
warns his conscience
and cripples his hands.
He sees how lovers farewell:
they hold their hands,
their eyes entwine;
then slowly they turn –
back to back –
release their hands,
fingers farewell –
the little one, at last.
He raises his hand,
and it shrinks down,
but his eyes tip-toe;
she turns; their eyes meet;
culture screens,
and they farewell.


Copyright © March. 29, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

“Na jacca wasalo hoti” (No one is low by birth)


“Na jacca wasalo hoti”
(Birth makes no one low.)

If by birth no one is high;
nor by birth we are low,
why do you say you’re high,
and I’m like dirt, so low?

Mom says I don’t lie,
but you know you lie;
I don’t cheat, but you do;
so, you know I’m not low.

You vow me – you love,
but your eyes go so low,
hug my thighs, and oh, more!
so you know I’m not low.

I know you’re not high,
for you’re one inch low,
but you swear you’re high,
and I’m like dirt, so low.

“Kammana wasalo hoti”
(Acts alone make one low.)
Oh, I know; I know now:
you are dirt like, so low.

Copyright © March. 22, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

A guilty bird

Goes out,
And she comes in,
Goes in,
And she come out;
She feeds; she cleans,
And his kids all dance.

But he…

He sits and thinks;
He sits and thinks

“Is she a slave,
and am I her master?
She feeds my kids
She cleans my nest,
But I sit and think,
Only sit and think”.

Copyright © March. 18, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

The greatest gift!!

Wipe your eyes my son,
Stare, just stare, at moon
When it’s full and bare;
See! you’ll see a hare.

He leaps into a fiery fire,
You see my son that pyre;
It’s a painting by a sire
Dwells in the sky higher.

This hare’s a great giver,
Who didn’t ever, shiver,
To leap into a dazzling fire
And give his life to a crier.

There’s that greatest gift
Sire gave to hare so swift;
When sky its veil does lift,
You’ll see that greatest gift.

Copyright © March. 16, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

A prodigal son

We dreamed, day-dreamed
To oust this shanty, shack,
Stained with cow-dung,
Infilled with wattle and daub,
Littered by a single hue
And haunted by gliding ghosts.

We dreamed, day-dreamed
To recline in a peaceful,
Concrete hermitage;
To scrape the sky high;
And to wink at blinking stars
That often toss their heads.

Smothers me, suffocates me
This satanic, concrete wretch,
But I cannot retreat,
For a wasteland has gobbled
that flourishing green,
Where now mystic leeches haunt.

Copyright © March. 07, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Seeking love in lust

Sire, have you felt love ever,
Ever, in your vast pool of lust,
Where you play love forever
With stolen mermaids of love?

When mermaids murmur love
To inflame your ceaseless lust,
Flames of lust must rise above,
Yet yearn for love turns to dust.

When will you cease this quest,
This quest for love in sheer lust
And willfully seek a lasting rest,
Turning lust into a cloud of dust?

Copyright © Feb. 07, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

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Give me thousand eyes


Give me thousand eyes
To see you, the real you.
Oh, no, I don’t see you;
I see only a slice of you.

And that false slice of you,
Me, and all that I see now,
Just now, here, just now,
May be gone – just gone

When I blink my eyes
And see you – next.

Copyright © Feb. 20, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Straight lines


They’ve gorgeous wings
All but trimmed;
So, they fly straight down
From top to bottom.

They are trained to fly
From top to bottom,
and, beauty they do see
Only in straight lines
From top to bottom.

See how drones often fly,
Sideways, freely they fly;
Round and round they fly;
From top to bottom
Or back to top they fly.

So, never trim my wings
For I can’ fly steep down;
Round and round I’ll fly,
Or as freely as drones fly.

Copyright © Jan. 22, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay