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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To die is certain


I know I’m doomed to die;
Maybe today, end of the day
Or some other day if not today;
Somehow, I’m doomed to die.

I don’t want to fight for fame,
For fame does not long remain;
whether it’s fame or shame;
I’m certain, it’s doomed to die.

I don’t want to live in a dream,
For I know I’m doomed to wake,
Nor I want to dry your dreams;
For I know, they’re doomed to die.

Don’t think that I’d love to die,
Or I would dash inside and hide,
For when he knocks our own doors;
I know, we all are doomed to go.

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Your heart is a flower

You are a flower,
often guarded by drones;
your heart is a flower,
yet tell me, my sister,
do you feel any love?
Do these drones,
fly fast from one to another,
show you any love?

Meet Ambapali,
a name for a great flower
in the Grove of Mangoes,
whose beauty attracted
princely drones.
You’re her great grand-daughter;
ask if they did shed
a single drop of tear,
a mirror that reflects love.

Did those princely drones
see her tears within;
did they take any care of them,
that were shielded
by her eyes; their sapphires?

Will these drones that sing
songs of love for your love
be there tomorrow,
by your side
to sing such sweet songs
to you?

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There was a man, an intelligent man.
He thought so;
others said so,
and he was proud of his intelligence.
He was
the beacon of the city, a guiding star
who guided all the others in the city
yet could not guide himself.

He didn’t know; he couldn’t see
what he was doing; who was sitting beside him;
who he has replaced by; and what’s happening around,
but he had clear eye sights
and was proud of his intelligence.
I am not laughing at him; I cannot laugh at him;
I love him for his truthfulness.

There are many such men who think
they are intelligent, but they don’t know
that they’re only tools in political propagandas.
There were two women, very famous ones,
who were used as tools to justify loot and plunder.
One lived in the West, the other in the East:
one was famous for her faithlessness,
the other for her faithfulness.

That’s true, human intelligence is limited;
people may solve simple riddles,
so they may think they are intelligent,
but they don’t know that
they are used as political tools:
tools used for different political games.

Poets were the propagandists who justified
what politicians did: how they turned two rich lands
into ashes.
One in the West; one in the East.
However, men and women think
they are intelligent,
yet they don’t know that they are used as tools
or at least, they let themselves be used
as tools for political games.
Human intelligence, afteral, is

Image source: Pixabay