Did those clear eyes
that grin and sneer at
a man’s lost eyesight
see their sister-daughters,
or brother-sons
that did his ill-fate breed?

He was the beacon,
the guiding North Star
that guided us all
when we just grouped,
but what use of those magics
if in mud he wallows?

Copyright © April 5, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

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Fantasy fish


Craving to own
a fish alone,
begot he as his tool
a mid-day brawl.

His son and woman
bellowing, “Amen,”
butted their neighbours
bereft their armours.

Fate, his faithful mate,
marched, but in haste,
parodying him of a mule
and driving us to school.

Lost he his fight
his terrific sight,
his woman and son
and his single loin;

Oh! for a fantasy fish.


Copyright © February 4, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

The Virgin Tour


Do you smell fishy here,
in this corner, or any other
empty, dusty smell?
It’s here mostly I’ve confronted
with fate: my friend and foe.

Listen to this record, but
don’t be a harsh judge
and tell the tale at the well,
for no other I’ll give a tour
inside this mossed cottage.

“Fate, did you raise me
from a stinking gutter
to a mountain height;
instead, from mountain height
to a stinking gutter, to fall me
again to that stinking gutter?

You should know
I’ve been
caught in a conflict;
I’m like an arecanut
with no chance for a miraculous escape,
between the blades
of an arecanut cutter;
I’ve been caught between my love
for my teacher, my life-long
friend, guiding star
my fellow students.

me versus others conflict
is doubled by my untamed
fingers in my right hand
that deny just copying
my thoughts: logical, rational thoughts,
that flow like a mad flood
that my weak finger-banks
have failed to push against,
or like an unleashed wild-buffalo
often taunts me.

my peer students have boycotted
but since I, like
Dickensian Blackpool,
cannot take any sides
have been oft, bullied
by fellow rivals
by guarding their mouths
but showering my ears,
when I am afar,
with jackals’ welcome notes,
while my star does not see
how my untamed, weak fingers
waste the flood of thoughts.

I know you’ve your own plan for me,
but give me one chance
to resist you and find my own fate.
When Sun starts plodding back home
I’ll follow him, leaving this dormitory,
and restarting my life again as a worm
in that stinking gutter”.


Copyright © August 12, 2018, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay

Mourn more for the moon

On a night when darkness floods,
And we are groping for an edge,
We mourn more for the moon;

At a noon when sun scorches us,
And we’re direly in need of a shade,
Sure, we vow we love night more.

Now my love is eyeing on my lines,
Fancying they’re some lines of love,
So, I love my love were not with me.

When I feel so lonely without love
And do need someone to sit by me,
I’d love my love’re sitting beside me.

That’s how fate plays with our life.
When we are in want of something,
It leaves us and flies far, far from us.

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