I seek my little Hometown
*['Sleep, little darlings, I watch while you slumber.Oh sun! Divine sun! Ripening the pumpkins everyone.']-'P'ere Goriot', Honor'e de Balzac
I peeped into the vast World map
and found my pearl like tiny island Sri Lanka
in the Indian Ocean!
And I marked my Hometown
'Katubedda', actually we had a house of our own there
Poor Mom built that from our loving Father's
Working compensation, who died
under an Aircraft hanger at the age of 32.
There's a famous University in Katubedda
and luckily I got an opportunity to jump there
for a brief course 'Radar Observation & Plotting'
It's a part of my seafarer career.
Now I observe my poor companions there
and plot their whereabouts in my inquisitive mind?
Their day to day greetings, smiles and cries
I see and hear on my heart screen
Black & White!
to the blind Violinist Mr. Gilbert who fiddles at the fish market on sundays!
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Withered grass on the playground
In the morning I dropped my grandson
to the Kindergarten
And I watched a Father plays football
with his daughter.
My inquisitive mind traveled
to the bygone years,
How my poor Mom was sitting in the tuck-shop
and watched my acrobats in the playground?
I like to go to school again
But my loving Mom I don't know your whereabouts
with my old books?
I am old now and see the nearby burial grounds
Some stray dogs play with their puppies?
'No man is poor who has had a godly mother.'
-Abraham Lincoln
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I am just an orange seed
Among the fire works in Orange County of California
Where I see the vast designs in the night sky at Disneyland.
I step down to Euclid street towards the Gas Station
That fuels me to run this oblique skeleton in the Zigzag race.
I cry silently and my hot tears flow into the Pacific Ocean
And search the roots in my tiny island called
'The Pearl of Indian Ocean'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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When dreams are faraway!
Yet, I close my eye lids
and pretend that I sleep
Hear the cries of children
Where they're looking for parents,
Planes fly in the sky
and dropp not money
But the poor wait
and see perhaps some gifts.
Moon shines with stars,
and the clouds run
Still I am awake
Though I pretend
That I sleep?
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Have pity on those who love each other and are separated
Mom you suffered nine months and rest of the life until you died.
I continue and almost fifty eight years now.
On my birthday..........greetings and gifts come along from Australia and Sri Lanka.
My eldest daughter Tharindu and Son-in-law Kelum write,
Wish you a healthy & wealthy life and may your dreams come true!
The youngest daughter Thilini and Son-in-law Chinthaka insists
We could not ask a better friend than you.
Yes of course, my loved ones we are born friends.
It's our fault we broke our own peaceful nest and scattered into different parts.
But the links are much stronger than earlier in the chain.
I drew a World Map in my complicated mind.
I brought Australia to Canada and sent her to Australia
And my tiny precious island Sri Lanka pushed towards Hawaii
And sent Hawaii into the Indian Ocean.
But still it's too far to touch.
Oh! My beloved wife hugs as usual
You are a Sun in my winter Igloo
And a full Moon in the mysterious summer hut.
I kept a piece of cake for my missing son 'Marco'
from my beloved's home made delicious chocolate cake.
My grand son Siluna being a taller day by day
And I dream he becomes a Captain one day
Who steers well in the Ocean of life his seaworthy Vessel.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Poor Snake Charmer's Charming Daughter!
Though she's beautiful
Nobody comes behind her?
One day in the class room
Literature teacher asked her to write an essay.
She wrote with a piece of chalk
On the black board;
'My father has three snakes
Hope, Prosper and Dancer their names.
And when the snakes dance in the market place
Papa is very happy and he brings us sweets & money home.
We have no venom and why the venomous World
Looks at us on a different angle?
Because of these snakes we get a sound sleep in the night
As the thieves never jump over our rickety fence?
Though we eat bread crumbs father never forgets to buy
Their daily three eggs!
I dream sometimes that I marry a rich & handsome snake-Prince
And my poor father rests on a couch in the palace corner? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Sanction!
My tiny twitter bird
beside my heart
Sang little while ago?
This poor bird lover's cage is open
and never it closes.
I could accept you wholehearted
with a solid promise,
not flying to another cage
with a singsong?
for Stella the poetess!
[To err is human, to forgive divine.]-Alexander Pope
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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Humble letter to the Queen
Honored Madam,
I take this opportunity to wish you a happy birth day as I saw in the BBC the celebrations,
Oh! What a lovely pageant.
My blessings, you may long-lived!
Sri Lanka is once a colony under your kingdom.
Thank God we got independence.
But Madam you left your precious friend in our tiny country
And his name is ' Divide & Rule' a real gentleman.
One day some innocents died of a bomb explosion
But your precious BBC showed only the empty bus.
I think some defect to their cameras?
This ethnic cleansing is a by-product of your factory 'The Imperialism'.
Never mind Madam we can forget the past as we are Sri Lankan.
But I humbly request a favor Madam,
if possible could you please minimize?
You're prominent BBC's (Prima Donna) partial yelp!
Thanking you in anticipation of a kind and a favorable reply.
I remain Madam,
Yours most obediently,
A scribbler,
Nimal Dunuhinga
I dedicate this poem to Miss or Mrs. Dumeetha.Luthra (BBC correspondent in Sri Lanka) for your prominent double standard.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A blind Gypsy and his piccolo
He pitches a higher octave the inner song of desperation
While his fiancee on picnicking with her violin.
She fiddles to another heart a different tune
And the blind sees her secret whereabouts.
* I love you and hope you love me
I kept my promise, don't keep your distance.
-Evita, Don't cry for me Argentina-
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Hey! How tactful your singsong Detective?
Hey! How tactful your singsong Detective?
When you hum a love song at home
Look around and be careful,
If it's a new song,
Your beloved must be so inquisitive?
and she may sniffs any rare fragrance
comes out from your body.
She search your whereabouts
Peeps into your well creased trouser pockets
and your day to day activities.
Any changes in your lifestyle
and in your sound sleep
She tries to explore your sweet dreams.
Not only that she jumps to your rickety rib cage
and counts your fast heart beat too?
to my beloved in gratitude!
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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Homeless writes on the Ballot?
O the rich Winter comes
Poor Man's eternal enemy?
I have to move from my cardboard house
Nearby the Railway Station.
A hole in my old boot
and a penny stuck in the wallet?
I have to skip fish oil
the doctor prescribed for cholesterol
But I have to fill my miniature empty bottle
with that weather-beaten Elixir?
For decades I just dropped my poor vote
to every Tom, Dick and Harry
But still it's a dream
The handsome politician's usurp Utopia!
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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Dormouse and a Ghost
This rare creature used to sleep all over the winter.
When the winter was over, one night the poor man heard
Somebody was scuffing the ragged doormat.
Then he slightly opened the door and peeped.
He saw it was scurrying away.
The next day at the same time
Scraping sound came.
He opened the door and kept a carrot on the mat.
This habit continued until the undernourished man died.
But it came as usual to the haunted house and there was always a carrot on the mat.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Farmer's unlettered wife laments
She lives in a remote village with her one and only daughter.
Her epileptic husband died a long ago,
Then the child was just completed five years.
'Oh! The University, it seems close to universe.
I have never seen such a place even in my faded dreams.
So my darling daughter you have already packed everything and leaves soon.
I am not worried about me.
While you learn many things of the cruel World, I am sure there won't be a single blank page in your heavy books for the orphan shepherd boy to make a pastel drawing.
He too run away like your kind father.
Though I am a simpleton my dear, that I could predict well.'
* To my loving deceased mother, her unaccomplished dream is that one of her children would be enrolled to an university some day. Mom! I am sorry but I learned to draw a black face with white paint and vice versa in the life-school.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I don't want to talk about 'it'!
No thanks.
I don’t want to talk about ‘it’.
‘It’? F*cking ‘it’?
That
tiny,
snivelling
insignificant
mono
syllab ic simile
for something that’s bigger
than a f*cking aircraft hanger?
Your puerile insensitivity
Let me leave you with that thought.
Hanging in the air,
For you to store in your
F*cking aircraft hanger
The Sign Waver who resembles my deceased brother
He stands at a Roundabout,
A white placard of black letters
And with a strap around his neck
It exhibits an advertisement of a new pay loan Center.
The poor chap's dance is very attractive
And I approached him pussyfoot.
I called him; 'Brother, for three things I came to you,
Firstly, you resemble my deceased loving brother once the bread-winner of our poor family.
Secondly, I am very inquisitive about the loan.
Thirdly, I am jobless and seeking a position to survive.
But I cannot dance like you and I am not belong to your soil; a different planet
Where I have come from?
So my dance would be typical and I am scared even to my oblique shadow.
Just imagine dear, when somebody is in hunger what about his dance? '
* my humble dedication to the poetess Dove Allen
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A lullaby for the stillborn infant who sleeps in a trash bag
Oh! What a sad circumstance is this?
I could have die in the war or could be blind forever.
I touched the baby girl's limbs and it's still warm.
Her poor mother has gone for milk or ran away.
And the unknown infectious father must be stuck in a brothel house?
Oh! My dear you haven't seen the precarious life in camouflage.
That's better as it's rather bitter to swallow.
Please do not open your small eyes my wingless bird
And sleep as much as you can.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I travel fifty years back when I hear your melancholy song
'Though he's black very handsome and a strong character,
Really a loving father.'
Mom always says when she's alive.
Oh! Dear Father, you left us almost fifty years ago,
Under an Aircraft Hangar you met a tragic accident.
Yes! Mom is right and you struggled to die for three days
And how sad when you closed eyes forever?
You wanted to make your three sons famous Soccer players,
But the youngest already left and lives in your proximity,
The eldest idles on Motherland and I am here like a football.
They kick me here & there but not into the goal
And I wait till the referee whistles saying that the game is over.
*Who keeps a dollar under my sheet?
I dedicate this poem to Luther.Vandross for his magical song* 'To dance with my father again'.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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My silent prayer in Saudi Arabia
Already started the winter here and the cold breeze bring me Nostalgia.
Green leaves are turning pale and the sky is quiet and empty
It's like my lonely heart.
When the dusk is flowing I hear a prayer of a distant mosque
And they all recite the holy Koran.
Desert storm blows from the northern end.
And I guess the ship from afar heading towards for the commercial port of Jeddah.
Then I imagined where I am?
My nest is far away from here where they call pearl of the Indian Ocean.
I checked the New Year calendar and marked the day with a pen
When I due for my vacation.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Sand bag
The bigamous chauvinist politician son tells his poor father
While his concubine on the treadmill to reduce her bad cholesterol,
'Hey! Old man please do not enter barefooted and all the way you bring dirty sand into our bungalow.'
Poor father returned to his shack and on his way back he picked a fistful of sand from the premises and kept in his holey satchel as a keepsake.
*Damned politics;
The one and only career that doesn't require qualifications but hypocrisy?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Parole
Par excellence!
The worst criminal in the world was pardoned
and he comes again into this uppish new world?
Half of his life he has spent
in the Government's boarding house.
Still in his forties but almost forgotten
how to approach a girl properly.
The hypocritical handsome politicians all over the world
search his whereabouts and offer him lot of new profitable contracts.
This illegitimate & ill-mannered person idles again at toll gates
with his new identity.
Dedication to the Norwegian peace brokers in Sri Lanka
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Lost and Found
In a southern city lived a wealthy family;
In a southern city was the happy home
Of a father and mother and a little daughter.
In peace and contentment they lived alone.
But one summer evening there happened a misfortune,
Which caused the parents to weep and mourn,
For this little daughter, a loving little treasure,
Was a poor little wanderer far, far from home.
It happened thus, -- the mother went out calling
On a widow friend, who lived all alone;
She left her little daughter in the care of her father,
And through his neglect she wandered from home.
The father rocked his child, till her eyes closed in slumber;
Thought he to himself, I'll go over across the way,
And see a neighbor friend; he'll be there this evening,
And I must see him before he goes away.
He left his little one, he supposed, sweetly sleeping
In her little cradle, in the house alone,
And in his great hurry he left the gate ajar;
This thoughtlessness caused destruction to his home.
Soon after he was gone she awoke from her slumber,
Poor child, she then found herself all alone,
For no one was there, no one heard her weeping
As she wandered away far, far from home.
She wandered along on the busy thoroughbare,
No one seemed to notice this little one alone;
She wandered down Broadway till the little feet were tired,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
At last, getting weary, she sat down on the pavement,
And soon fell asleep, so tired had she grown;
In her troubled sleep she would softly murmur, papa;
This poor little lost one so far away from home.
A policeman came along and saw her sweetly sleeping,
On the pavement at midnight alone.
He gently picked her up and took her to the station,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
He advertised, but could not find her parents;
At last he took her to the orphan home,
Where she lived till a farmer in the country
Took her to live with him, this wanderer alone.
The father died o'er the loss of his daughter,
The mother sought for her three years alone;
At last she found her with kind people in the country,
Her poor little wanderer far away from home.
Kind people can imagine the joy of the mother,
When she found her little loving one.
"Oh God," exclaimed the mother, "I have found my little Alice,
My poor little wanderer far away from home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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