If trash bin could speak?
Why not?
Yes, Trash bin talks
very politely.
When I do the garbage in the gas station
I heard; 'Hey! Chum gas price goes down
Isn't it?
It seems that you're not happy
and must be tired counting money
and collecting the garbage?
If you prefer we cold have exchanged our status
But I am not familiar with those colored notes!
They never peep here? '
Then I replied him; 'Dear friend!
Your position is better than me,
when the truck comes
totally you're empty,
But I always count this mystic dirty notes
That belong to the others
And really it burns?
[The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family.]-Thomas Jefferson
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
The happiest moments of my life have a been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family.
quote by Thomas Jefferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Street Sweeper
He wears a white uniform
That belongs to the Municipality.
While sweeping he worries about the previous night's dream.
The garbage he raked turned into currency notes
But when he took those to the bank to get realized
All converted into garbage again.
*'Worldly values are never really going to allow you to feel at ease' the Buddha said.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Unknown Pilgrim?
On my way walking home
While the Venus Star burns
in the dark sky,
The youth questioned me;
'Why the two tracks Grandpa? '
Then I replied; 'Probably one for North
And the other stretched to South it seems.'
'Nobody wants to go from West to East
And see their innocent struggle for survival? '
The Mail-Train whistled from a far
And he's disappeared all of a sudden!
I was really excited though it's my inner soul
Or somebody else from another planet?
The ragged Station Master's holding his dim hurricane lamp
and he's very inquisitive of my whereabouts.
The empty train passed slowly like a beautiful widow
Yet I couldn't trace those mysterious Railway tracks?
Yes Chum! We come like water and go as wind
He who erases our strange names systematically?
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A handsome beggar
Under the burning Sun in a corner of a busy road
He begs with a smile like an actor of a movie
And his till is full of notes,
Someone painted the money in different colours.
But the guy isn't happy like
As the soul is still empty and he doesn't know
What he wants?
The painter who knows about these mysterious notes?
* Really what the man wants?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The worthless stuff
I work here in a Gas station
As a Sales Associate.
But collect the trash bags
from the bins too
A part of my job?
When I remove the heavy bags
The kind customers dump?
My innocent thoughts flew without wings
to my bygone golden school days!
I love that old man we call him 'Charlie uncle'
Who collects garbage and look after the ground.
O that attractive Teacher for Literature
who wears Indian Cashmere saris at all
and she got dimples on her both cheeks
when she smiles!
One day she questioned me; 'Nimal you want to be a writer
Lawyer or a Doctor? '
'Yes Teacher, I would like to be a writer
If not a Scavenger? ' I replied happily.
To that uncle charlie & the Literature teacher!
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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An undeniable letter to a Farrier who lives in a remote village
Dear Smith,
My stallion is ready for the grand race and I promised him to buy new shoes.
That should be durable and not fashionable.
I want you to explain my situation dear,
I have a holey wallet in that never remains the colored notes.
My Windmill is very familiar with the racecourse and I am sure he would bring the prize home, this is a humble requirement and invitation from a forgotten old friend.
sincerely,
The lame jockey Surmise.
*Postscript
I hope you still collect the old coins and I have few silver that I can polish for you.My broken door is open at all for my drunkard old friends.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Twilight at a window
A funeral procession
Only the dead person's Kith & Kin?
No long hearse and they carry the cardboard casket
on their bony shoulders towards the pauper's graveyard!
And he sees through his shattered window
Perhaps the poor man's wife cries behind
And the children not aware of the mysterious death
play on the road?
A radical film maker with his Cinema team
Takes pictures for his documentary film
'Poor man's rich funeral'
And he gives few notes to the widow as a gratitude,
She must have seen for the first time in her life
That tricky big colored notes?
[How could I have come so far
(And always on such dark trails!)
I must have traveled by the light
Shinning from the faces of all those I have loved.]
-Thomas McGrath, American,1916-1990
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Human Resources Bank & the Life's gamble?
The smoldering Man,
He felt its smoothness
When he touched
The new big currency note!
And the sadness
When it's changed into
dirty small notes?
O the annoying!
Harsh bitterness
while swallowing
the rough coins
at hard times?
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A tear like ball of lead rolls in my fragile heart
I write this to a friend of mine who madly involved in competitive politics.
This is a paper flower that never betrays you.
Hey! Chum, New year bird gets ready to fly at her roost in the sky
Until the crawling month of January peeps.
My Granny whispers in her old gray tomb;
'I know that she sings the same old song with a different dance
Like a handsome politician in a colored dress.
When a red fox howls at the midnight on a mountain top
I think of you deeply and worry my friend.
My heart laments like the mystic Protagonist in your favorite book of Fyodor Dostoevsky's 'The Brothers Karamazov'
If possible, please change your slippery road brother
And meet one day in a cobbled street corner.
We belong together as bards forever.
*How strange when I read the passages of obituaries here in a foreign land and I feel they are my own familiar people? I wish them a Merry Christmas!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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There Is No Escaping From The Garbage We Leave
At the end of any day,
A trash collector...
And someone else,
Who may have a Doctorate's degree...
Have the same thing in common!
Both have a lifetime association...
With the creation of garbage.
Whether that garbage is recycled or not!
Dropped on the street...
Or rolled up to put into one's pocket.
Regardless of 'who' is paid,
To pick their trash up...
Both can be observed,
Leaving something to forget...
To be hauled away from a curb.
And those perceptions of who we are,
With or without daily impressions to make...
Who we impress or charades we fake,
There is no escaping from the garbage we leave.
It's all over the place.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bares Thru Us?
BARES THRU US?
by Alex Lewis
i'm taking out the TRASh (of society) :
the only way to set all the others free.
i will dispose of all of it:
those healthy in mind and body-fit.
in this, RUbbish, you won't find the needy,
only the selfish and the greedy.
i have no garbagE-collecting mechanism
to pick up all of the racism
i'll put them in the traSH bag next to the ignoramus.
i'm talking, of course, about the rich and famous.
at the request of the children,
i'll be rid of each republican.
finally, i can take the garBage out
before the scum see what's about.
now, everyone else will be at peace,
especially the lazy and the police.
i have only one word of warning for you all:
once again, the rUbbish bag will get full. ?
poem by Alex Lewis
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If you put garbage in a computer nothing comes out but garbage. But this garbage, having passed through a very expensive machine, is somehow ennobled and none dare criticize it.
quote by Rory Bremner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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[The Trash Can Fire]
The Trash can fire burns worm.
For another dog left out in the cold.
Glistening streets,
where the dark allies meet.
Another dog without a bone.
Once loyal friend to his master.
Now master of disaster.
His only friend is where he roams
and the only home he now knows.
Is there by the trash can fire.
As rain comes down in sheets.
His matted fer soaks to the core.
Steaming his sole, like water on hot coals
He begs by the trash can fire.
The trash can fire burns worm,
little embers that glow in the night.
Def and blind is this dog.
Never will he belong,
to anything but the trash can fire.
poem by Seth Morrow
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Raccoon
Yesterday I found this mammal in the trash bin,
Chiefly gray has a bushy ringed tail
Smiled with me like an old politician.
Today when I went to throw the garbage
Oh! It's almost dead but that rare smile is there.
How funny is this horrible life?
He gives and takes like a gambling.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Give Back To The People Their Poems
every poem written
was taken from them
picked from the slums
and the public market
and the churches and
lonely houses and
dirty bus stations
like an empty tin can
of milk or a rotten tomato
or an abandoned shoe
a leaflet, a flat tire,
uprooted trees, and
scattered garbage
you heard what that
woman vendor said
about the price of her
fish and the price of
rice and the price of
gasoline that seem
to be irreconcilable
you write them everyday
the recent stabbing
at the gasoline station
and the kidnapping
for ransom in that
old city where the
mayor got most the
the ransom money
you write them everyday
giving them a voice
in your world of poetry
these truths that you
have taken away from
them: it is time to return
them what is due them
do not ever be silent
move on, create the
lovely noise, spread the
word that the poems
on that ivory tower
are not there anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I like to fly with them to the infinity
I see the pigeons sit on a lamp post on this rainy day
And their whisper is very mysterious through the gloomy atmosphere.
' Hey! Chum you are counting the tricky money on the cash register madly and are you going to continue those habits in rest of your life?
Why can't you jump here and have a flight with us? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Easter Scene
a woman in an early morning sweeping some trash
away from the house
a heap of garbage
thrown on the road for the garbage truck to pick it up...
whistles her way inside the house
locks the gates
enters the door
and opens all the windowsof the house
meeting a brand new day
filled with warm sunshine
and cool air breathings
from the yard's green trees.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Twelve
a woman in an early morning sweeping some trash
away from the house
a heap of garbage
thrown on the road for the garbage truck to pick it up...
whistles her way inside the house
locks the gates
enters the door
and opens all the windows of the house
meeting a brand new day
filled with warm sunshine
and cool air breathings
from the yard's green trees.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I hit on a Lamp post in the day light!
'Hey! Are you drunk? ' he asked me in a friendly manner.
'No chum, haven't seen a dropp long time as I am out of a billet now.' I too replied him politely.
'Why don't you come with a heavy book in the night
And you can read a lot, I'll give you light free of charge.'
'You are so kind like a night flower.'
'Be on alert while reading because anytime the Paradise requests for street Lamps as the curfew there it seems? ,
We can go together but must sign a contract they too have a policy of hire & fire.'
* It's really amazing when human beings keep their mouths shut the lamp posts talk very politely like the stone age?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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My payroll, pulse and the puncture
Oh! it's a sad tune as usual
When I touch these colored notes
The burning sensation what a pity?
My poor lungs try to fill happy air,
But always a puncture along this tiresome journey from a cruel thorn?
I am not a stripling to bear this stretch
And this tattered piece would break if you pull fast.
* The annoyed alarm clock wakes me up to fight with the life.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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