{"id":38699,"date":"2015-02-18T00:10:16","date_gmt":"2015-02-18T05:10:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/dbsjeyaraj.com\/dbsj\/?p=38699"},"modified":"2015-02-19T22:59:57","modified_gmt":"2015-02-20T03:59:57","slug":"the-water-buffaloa-memorial-and-dirty-dishwater-three-poems-by-siri-gunasinghe","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dbsjeyaraj.com\/dbsj\/?p=38699","title":{"rendered":"“The Water Buffalo, A Memorial and Dirty Dishwater”-Three Poems by Siri Gunasinghe"},"content":{"rendered":"

Three Poems by Siri Gunasinghe Translated by Professor Ranjini Obeyesekere<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Siri<\/a>

Siri Gunasinghe-(b: February 18, 1925 (age 90), Galle, Sri Lanka)<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Water<\/a>

Water Buffalo, in Yala-pic: by PhantomMenace-Colombo\/Singapore<\/p><\/div>\n

1. The Water Buffalo<\/strong><\/p>\n

My beard on fire<\/p>\n

in haste, I was running, running down in the dawn,<\/p>\n

bearing the burdens of life<\/p>\n

all on my back;<\/p>\n

at the edge of the road, in a large clump of grass<\/p>\n

like a fat merchant spread eagled on his easy-chair<\/p>\n

I saw you lie.<\/p>\n

Both eyes closed;<\/p>\n

and at the earth-shattering<\/p>\n

battering of my feet<\/p>\n

you did not even start.<\/p>\n

Ears turned down;<\/p>\n

my sky-thundering<\/p>\n

lightning-like haste<\/p>\n

did not surprise you.<\/p>\n

Teeth unbrushed<\/p>\n

face unwashed,<\/p>\n

in the mountain\u2019s moist lap<\/p>\n

of lush marsh grass<\/p>\n

mud splashed.<\/p>\n

What if, like you<\/p>\n

I too<\/p>\n

could laze?<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Tell me my buffalo,<\/p>\n

you who can\u2019t even stand<\/p>\n

yes you, Reverend Sir!<\/p>\n

Are you observing rites,<\/p>\n

contemplating the impermanence of life,<\/p>\n

belching with both eyes closed?<\/p>\n

Or do you count beads<\/p>\n

with each slow puff<\/p>\n

of dilated nostril?<\/p>\n

Like eye-flies slowly crawling<\/p>\n

from a partly opened flower<\/p>\n

are the thoughts that seem to teem<\/p>\n

from those faintly twitching eyes;<\/p>\n

what secret do they hold?<\/p>\n

Head half-lifted up<\/p>\n

spit drooling, lips that chap<\/p>\n

like a toothless mouth chewing betel<\/p>\n

all alone;<\/p>\n

a lazy past was yours.<\/p>\n

The full weight of earth and sky<\/p>\n

bundled in one load<\/p>\n

like a wisp of a cotton flake<\/p>\n

you bear<\/p>\n

on those handsome, upturned horns.<\/p>\n

How do you do it<\/p>\n

O buffalo?<\/p>\n

You do not know of yesterday<\/p>\n

nor have yet come to know today.<\/p>\n

Tomorrow you know nothing of.<\/p>\n

Undying time alone is yours.<\/p>\n

You are my only idol<\/p>\n

all in stone.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n

2. A Memorial<\/strong><\/p>\n

Forsaking me<\/p>\n

leaving my limbs death-stiff<\/p>\n

she left \u2013 disappeared \u2013<\/p>\n

went away;<\/p>\n

and I became a prey<\/p>\n

to a flock of wild-beast memories<\/p>\n

a bloody prey.<\/p>\n

The thick dark of time shrouds<\/p>\n

but in the flickering light from my heart<\/p>\n

her body glows<\/p>\n

gleams before my eyes.<\/p>\n

Like a cool streak of water<\/p>\n

between rough rocks<\/p>\n

she flows<\/p>\n

soaking my heart.<\/p>\n

The colour of clear skies is her.<\/p>\n

The texture of trees and flowers is she.<\/p>\n

All the colors of the world are her.<\/p>\n

I struggle hard to shut her out<\/p>\n

She lurks in the very lashes of my eyes.<\/p>\n

The tough dry skin of forgetfulness<\/p>\n

splits apart —<\/p>\n

your eyes peer at me dear one.<\/p>\n

I still see the trembling of your lips<\/p>\n

as you embrace me.<\/p>\n

The only happiness life has,<\/p>\n

the one lovely object the world holds,<\/p>\n

is she \u2013 companion of my loneliness \u2013<\/p>\n

vanished now;<\/p>\n

the only woman who shared my loneliness.<\/em><\/p>\n

3. Dirty Dishwater<\/strong><\/p>\n

Man\u2019s mind is a kitchen<\/p>\n

Learning, it\u2019s dishwater.<\/p>\n

I grovel, lapping it up.<\/p>\n

Black crows flock<\/p>\n

to drive me away.<\/p>\n

It is not easy to escape.<\/p>\n

Dishwater stagnates in the drain<\/p>\n

with stale leftovers<\/p>\n

scraped off broken plates.<\/p>\n

No salt or flavor in it<\/p>\n

nothing to fill one up.<\/p>\n

Hurt by a hurled coconut shell<\/p>\n

leg-lifted<\/p>\n

yelping<\/p>\n

I still cannot tear myself away<\/p>\n

from that drain.<\/p>\n

All that gave life<\/p>\n

to a lifeless existence \u2013<\/p>\n

dishwater.<\/p>\n

The only flavour<\/p>\n

in a flavorless life \u2013<\/p>\n

stale food.<\/em><\/p>\n

Courtesy:The Island<\/strong><\/p>\n

Tweet<\/a><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Three Poems by Siri Gunasinghe Translated by Professor Ranjini Obeyesekere 1. The Water Buffalo My beard on fire in haste, I was running, running down in the dawn, bearing the burdens of life all on my back; at the edge of the road, in a large clump of grass like a fat merchant spread eagled …<\/p>\n

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