Best Ceylon Poems
This is a translation of the famous Bengali Poem " Banalata Sen". The author is
the renowned surrealist poet of India - Jibanananda Das (1899 - 1954). This poem is considered as his best and one of the all-time greatest poems of Bengali Literature.
I wandered for thousands of years on the paths of the world,
from the seas of Ceylon to the oceans of Malaya, through the darkness of nights,
I have travelled so much; in the distant grey world of Bimbisar and Ashoka -
I was there; still farther in the darkness of the city of Bidarva;
I am a weary soul, amid the wild foamy seas of life;
Banalata Sen of Natore bestowed me some peace for a few moments.
her hair reminds the dark nights of the long-lost Bidisha,
her face the fine carvings of Srabasti; in the farthest corner of the sea,
the sailor whose sail is broken, and who has lost directions,
when he spots a green, grassy island with cinnamon,
I sighted her the same way; she said, "Where have you been for so long? "
raising her eyes, like a bird's nest, Banalata Sen of Natore.
evening dawns like the sound of dews, the eagle wipes out the smell of sun from its wings,
all the colours of the world fade, I write the manuscript
of the story, the scintillating fireflies shine bright,
all birds return to their nests ~ all rivers meet their ends ~
all borrowings and lendings of life are complete,
nothing remains but the darkness, and Banalata Sen sitting across me face to face.
Translated by : Malabika Ray Choudhury
Just one cup in the morning; no added flavor
Ceylon tea or Assamese is my preference
Each drip and each sip I so favor and savor
Betwixt too light and too strong. This makes difference
Its red-black-orange mixture I fondly adore
My chocolate face waves betwixt its white-ash smoke
There's a fragrantly sumptuous taste in its core
To sip this nectar with me join a few townsfolk
It's poured into my cup in a hundred-degree
I start sipping. It does not hurt my lips or tongue
The process goes on till I, finally, could see
Not a tinge is left, and I feel extremely young
A cup of hot black tea is the day's protector
Can't I compare it with the heavenly nectar...?
09 February 2023
A Simple Pleasure Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
for Thirugnanamoorthy
Remorseful, the noonday sun
Frizzles with the stealthy wind
Under the rubbery mountain green.
A calmness has come to rest
From having tossed in its sleep.
The forest has taken leave
Of the hunted horn and drum.
No more the tapper late of nap
Scurries to the haven of a nest.
No more the rattle whisper fades
To nothingness in a lonesome rest.
No more, no more, for the heavens
Sleep and all the troops sleep too.
The sinewy python stretched past
Clumsily the ragged rock and branch.
The Owl has called its reveille at last.
And the forest sleeps with the wind
Gently fanning some whisper closer
And closer, every wave, a venomous flick
Of a serpent, a kiss of rest.
(Letter describing the situation in Malaya and denouncing
treachery, written in 1952 to Thirugnanamoorthy who was banished
by a British magistrate to Ceylon in March 1952. The letter never
reached him.)
© T. Wignesan, Seremban, 1952. Pub. in Tracks of a Tramp : a
first collection of poems, 1951-1961. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore :
Rayirath Publications, 1961.
Horn Haiku.
To be culpable,
You do not need to complete,
Any obstruction.
Trump is never nice;
With his vice he does entice,
And sins shall suffice.,
Truly a lost cause;
Qualities not redeeming;
Sets poor example.
Trump lied while we cried;
He had killed figure of speech,
Being blasphemous.
Trump has been lazy;
Always sitting on keister;
Never getting off.
Sri Lanka so sad;
Once was country of Ceylon,
And now death does part.
He fought off our foes;
We know that Jesus arose,
After death He chose.
You should think about,
All of the things that I wrote,
Then read them again.
Jim Horn
shrub
Ceylon
laurel bark
kinnamomon
spice
They Were
They were boys going over the top to die in their tens of thousands in the mud of the Somme. Nazi youth best in the world bar none, proved wrong over wide steppes of Mother Russia. Hurricane pilots fighting Japan over Ceylon, Burma, Imphal, lost pilots barely 21, made men in lonely cockpits. Red Chinese boys laid bare bone bloody against Yankee lines, human wave failure. In the jungles of Nam stoned Americans kill more yellow men and women, want their youth back more time to do drugs without time taken up by killing. Falklands calling, Malvinas battle boys to men 8,000 miles from home, for Britain left many behind last colonial war. Desert combat, boys to men now highly skilled killers for oil and the engine. Today, where will it be next? War calling more boys to be men, to quietly die in combat or call for their mothers. Fate will tell – now we wonder. Boys finish school, part of the lottery of death crying for more soldiers and innocents to die in death.
An Englishman lost in afternoon tea,
Memories of a lotus flower love
Rajas and elephants in Delhi
Livingstone the explorer
Religion to convert
Laurence of Arabia
A leader of men
The Boers and the Zulus
Gordon and Khartoum
These are the things that shook the world
Silk and Cotton,
The wealth of Empire
Earl Mountbatten our man in Burma
The cry of Bombay and Ceylon
Oblivious to a young man’s dream
England was the world
Her Empire was great
For the sun never did sett
On her wealth
The jewel in this noble crown
Yet History was not kind
Exploitation her crime
Though civilisation came hand in hand
For Freedom we planted
Democracy you chanted
The union jack you did burn
And what have you learned
Greed breeds poverty in silence
Sectarian dogma your anthem
Murder by the chosen few
How flourishes your tree
When your morals all flee
With bombs in the souk
And murder by troops
Education restricted
The poor evicted
To make way for corruption
And tyrants consumption
Look to the horizon
For there lies Britain
It's empire gone
But our pride lingers on
Can your freedom say the same?
Or is oil to blame?
Who shall we accuse?
For your freedoms abuse?
Not the British
Love us or hate us
England brought you civilisation
And civilisation lives on
In this green and pleasant land
Stones in life strong like stones,
As a weapon,
As a tool,
Shelter over the heads of souls,
Even beyond the Era of stones,
Stones in plenty and in varieties,
Gems,stones,Gemstones,
Rare,durable,colored,long life and beauty,
Weighed and valued in dots and drops,
A dream for the poor,
A desire for the rich,
Crowns without Gems not a King,not a Queen,
Taj Mahal minus Gems not a world wonder,
Ceylon turned Sri Lanka known Island of Gems,
Marco Polo toured and admired,
The Portuguese,The Dutch,The British much cared,
All stones are not Gems,all Gems are not stones,
In stones Gems,
In people some like Gems!
You gave life to me
I was not an easy child you see
You gave unconditional never the less
I was just so young, I guess
There were many nights you cried
Praying on your knees at your bedside
That God will guide me on the narrow
While I flew around like the sparrow
God knew what to do
Although it made me really blue
Your arms open wide
You held me till the pain subside
Today you are gone
I can’t make you anymore Ceylon
I wish it is all a dream
I pray I find you at a stream
Surrounded with colours from spring
I can see the all joy they bring
Now it’s my turn to cry
While you are with angels high
The day was glorious, sun splitting the sky,
Sat down in utter bewilderment I asked myself why,
It started round with one miss Mckay around 5 years ago or so,
When i think of you i wonder what I meant,
Your hair so black like the darkest of nights,
Your eyes they shone like the brightest of lights,
Your skin so soft yet tanned to perfection,
From the island of Ceylon a Godess among the living,
Your voice it carried on the morning breeze,
What could you see in a man like me,
Whenever i saw you my heart skipped a beat,
I was bereft of my senses, my train of thought lost,
Speachless forever it was like I was lost,
Lost at sea like a wandering soul,
Traversing the void like a ghoul in days of old,
It makes no sense to me at all,
Why do we desire what we can't attain,
Life is about surviving, defeating the mundane,
But love oh love it destroys my heart,
It sends me deeper and deeper into the black,
But i beg thee head not my words of woe,
For love the destroyer, it can also make you whole.
Grandfathers deep English voice joined hers in prayers
Apple trees shimmering in the sunlight beside the water
Crumpled apricot roses tumbled above the interlaced arch
The mistress of the house wore a necklace of black pearls
Attends every afternoon for tiny cakes and fine Ceylon teas
Full evening dress, frothing swell of linen and velvet bodice
Painting roses and rosebuds, petal by petal with dewdrops
Delicate tweeting of finches Dainty wings flittering to and fro
Precious secrets of a painters art the canvas would not yeild
Tailored black suit with a faint chalk stripe,double breasted
Rows of silver buttons stamped with lions , deep grey eyes
OUR TIN POT NAVY so THEY SAID in 1914 Sydney in the first World War 1
In 1914 German cruisers were cut loose
and Emden she was one…………….…(fired 38lb shells)
the Indian ocean she did for hunting choose
and 9 ships were sunk by gun…….
Then she sailed and shelled Madras , I say
captured 10 more ships, when off Ceylon…
Penang harbour a night visit,… hey!
sank Frog and Ruski warships, and was gone ….(Emden was daring!)
November 8, morse code it said… strange ship a passing there,
out near Cocos island, the German raider caused a stir
Cruiser Sydney she raced west at 25 knots or more
And sighted wily Emden who opened fire for sure
Sydney took 15 hits before, she then hit back …..(with 100lb shells)
blew away her steering gear and knocked her funnels flat (Emden)
.. ………..demise………..
The Scrap Iron Flotilla they said in 1940
Light Cruiser Sydney in World War 2
Light Cruiser Sydney had some 6 inch guns
she met Italians in the med.
sank destroyer Espero not for fun
in nineteen forty, yes its said
17th july Sydney was on patrol, when,
she was called into a fight
2 Italian cruisers waited, then,
sprung some pommy destroyers in flight....(pommy English)
Yes Sydney came to even up
the poms out gunned for sure
when she arrived with blazing guns
the Italians run for shore
Bande Nere and Colleoni rushed a bit
made smoke to get away
Band Nere then she took a funnel hit
as Sydney passed her way
Collenoni then she wore the brunt
stopped dead by Sydney's shell
so Band Nere escaped the hunt
Sydney's out of ammo… well?.:)
But if you live by the sword you die by the sword
cunning German's had their day
Sydney met a ship with hidden guns aboard
Raider Kormoran made her play
Kormoran she hid behind a Dutch flag
and when Sydney came in range ………a sitting duck ... 1000 yards
she fired first, jerked down the rag……...old navy trick
two equals did exchange………………….similar guns…
Though mortally wounded Sydney, still,
had some guns to fire,
x turret still fired with a bitter will
burnt Kornoran …'the liar'…….Don Johnson
……….demise of both……….
No trace of the Sydney sailors ...Kormoran sailors made it to the barren west coast of
Australia
and were interned as P.O.Ws....Almost seems like Karma with payback by the German navy...
Beetle fobs on a trashed out war plane equals the dogma of a hidden few. Vessels whisper in a breeze. And no ant could utilise its soul. As all have a duty. All firm a line. Military precision in a cute cut curve. Jeopardy is an anarchy. And upon ancient lands. Monarchs were monarchs when they did rule. Now no more. Cease to confuse. Adorn a painting with a guilded leather wand. Induces a coma of though to exact a mighty wrong. Si tail end of feathered beats should never be ignored. Taken to the bosum of the wide oak torso. In unison it strives to live. Lead. Leads. Lead. Leads. Led. Leaden. Community forms. Arrives justice in panned out pancakes. No to planning. And further more no more £% or €$ and prevailing is the wishes of the smallest tapered shrew. With a snout for a nose and in tune wars. To unblemish the smoked sand. And then the Sanskrit will outsway the doctrines and fly over and over and over and over and over the fantastic plaza of ancient soil. Mishpa deyoo Ceylon crinna elloo fatma imman imman imman Dijon xxxxxxxxx valour vapours z.z.z. At 0% of an applet ha ha ha ha ha ha ha xx xx xx love you lots xxxxxx kisses kissing kiss. Xx
Do not leave me ! -
I am repeating, as a prayer,
I dissolve, melt away in you,
Do not leave me !
Some ships go to a bottom somewhere,
The storms and the hurricanes of a life are too abrupt
But neither for one hour, nor for one minute
Do not leave me!
We shall speak about something,
We shall dream about something good.
You will give me Ceylon tea to drink,
And maybe, even we shall sing.
In the citric glow of the moon,
By night, between stars, to fly so pleasantly!
But in the morning we shall return into our bodies
To continue to look our dreams.
We shall listen to silence,
And to believe to a miracle of recovery,
And God's BLESSING...
Do not leave me!
P.S.
Do not leave me!
With you I know joy of a life.
If you will forget me - I shall melt
Biobab ever sits unable to stand but a tree.A broad trunked,huge like rocks,from silk-cotton family fruiting for paper,cloth and rope suiting.
Bab is gate in Arabic and the tree is an African origin.A gateway between Asia and Middle East kept opened for centuries.Ancient,heavy,immemorial gift from Arab traders for shadowing the Sun hitting Mannar soil in then Ceylon.A mark of gesture of Arabs on their merchandised soil but no a trade mark as traders hail.
Hats off dear Arabs for your kind hearts.Biobab a tropical being sits smart for half of Adam’s age in the coastal belt of Northern province of Sri Lanka!