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Susantha Herath Poem
A child was walking along the road,
the road from his home to the school.
He was walking to the school
early in the morning,
he has to walk six miles , to learn maths
and science and arts
and English and geometry and,
and the life, a life he never had,
in down pouring rains,
or under the burning sun .
He has to walk six miles
and he was twelve years old,
twelve years only.
He has to walk
in a road through a jungle with huge trees ,
with wild beasts and snakes ,
tigers and vipers and elephants ,
elephants who had lost their natural habitat
for the development,
The development of whom the boy did not know,
Not the father of the child,
nor the mother of the child.
And the animals were hungry and angry and wild,
the boy was also hungry,
he had no breakfast,
as nothing to eat in his home
And he had piece of bread last night,
with a piece of onion.
He was walking and dreaming ,
dreaming about not a luxurious life,
but about if he would have lunch today.
Then , they met ,
the raging wild elephant,
and the hungry child,
a child who was dreaming about
a lunch he had never before
nor he will ever.
Then the time stopped for a moment,
The earth stop rotating,
Then everything back to normal
Except the grieving life
of a poor hungry child.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2021
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Susantha Herath Poem
No More War
Marching boots echo
no birds sing in the
shattered valleys.
Children’s toys buried
beneath the smoking ruins
where are they ?
Flags wave in triumph,
but mothers get folded notes
instead of sons.
Steel birds above us
drop fire with no memory
earth weeps sorrowfully
A soldier's last breath
drifts with dust into the wind
nameless in the dark.
.
No victor remains
when the fields are filled with blood
only ghosts rejoice.
Old men talk of pride,
But young men vanish into mud
history forgets and forget
Rain falls on helmets,
drowning cries beneath the mud
the war will never end.
In a child’s drawing,
the sun bleeds behind barbed wire
innocence erased forever
The earth spins once more —
blossoms rise from ash and bone,
whispering, “No more.”
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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Susantha Herath Poem
Stop the War
Stop the war — we cry to every sky,
Where smoke replaces stars and children die.
From Gaza’s grief to Iran’s silent screams,
The world is choking on abandoned dreams.
O Israel, lay down your wrathful hand,
No justice blooms in blood-soaked sand.
No future rises on a shattered wall,
When vengeance is the only call.
And you, O powers that in Iran stand tall,
Do not let pride become your fatal fall.
The missiles rise, but peace lies torn apart—
What victory comes from a broken heart?
Two ancient lands with holy soil beneath,
Now cradle only sorrow, loss, and grief.
Who profits when the innocent are slain?
What god is served by suffering and pain?
The bombs don’t care whose name you speak,
They only burn the strong and kill the weak.
Enough of war, of graves, of endless night—
We plead for ceasefire, not just for might.
Let every mother’s tears be not in vain.
Let every soul rise up against the pain.
Stop the war, before we all are lost—
There’s no true triumph worth this cost.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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Susantha Herath Poem
In halls where silence cloaked the dread,
You raised a voice, though fear had spread.
With leaflets fluttering like doves in flight,
You lit a candle in the night.
Not with guns, nor iron might,
But truth and courage, fierce and bright.
A rose in winter, pure and still,
Defying hate with steadfast will.
Your words, like whispers through the air,
Asked hearts to feel, to act, to care.
Against a storm of brutal lies,
You stood with clear and open eyes.
Though gallows claimed your final breath,
You did not bow, not even in death.
Your petals fell, but not in vain—
They bloom where conscience dares remain.
White Rose of Germany, proud and free,
You taught what strength and soul must be.
A bloom of hope in darkest hour—
Forever grace, forever power.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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Susantha Herath Poem
The Call to War or False Promises
They spoke of honor carved in stone,
Of glory waving from a hill.
They lit the torch, then threw us in,
And called the burning “noble will.”
They draped their lies in marching drums,
And wrote our names on gilded scrolls,
But none could see, beneath the hymns,
The hunger swallowing our souls.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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Susantha Herath Poem
When Night Had No Mercy
I walked alone, dusk held the air,
A fork ahead—school light there,
And on the right, a shadowed wall,
Where silence hummed the siren's call.
Then feet—too many—closed around,
A hand, too rough, too fast, no sound.
My mouth was sealed, the sky went black,
They dragged me down, no turning back.
A van—its door, a waiting tomb,
They flung me in—a shifting room.
Blindfolded, breath against the floor,
Their boots—my blanket, pain and more.
The engine screamed, the night took flight,
My name dissolved into the night.
A hunted pulse beneath their heel,
No law, no face, just iron and steel.
I wake with sweat, the dream still burns,
As if the van forever turns.
No trial, no voice, no morning sun—
A terror time that’s never done.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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Susantha Herath Poem
To the Cat Who Ran Away
You left so quietly one day,
We didn’t hear your little feet.
You slipped away and gone ,
While we were all busy with work.
You were never meant to stay in,
You loved to chase and roam.
But now the house feels strange and sad,
Without you here at home.
We call your name, we check the yard,
We leave out food and wait.
We hope you're safe and warm somewhere,
And not too far or late.
If one day you come back to us,
No need to ask or cry—
Your bed is here, your bowl is full,
We’ll greet you with a sigh.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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Susantha Herath Poem
Beneath tin roofs and between rusted walls,
their dreams hang like torn cloth
patched, and faded , in the wind.
A cracked bowl, a child’s laugh
hope drawn in a poster on broken walls.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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Susantha Herath Poem
-The Chalk Beneath My Fingernails-
I walk a path where roads dissolve,
Where rivers rise and hopes revolve,
Through jungle mist and dusty lanes,
With every step, I carry names—
Of children born with hollow bowls,
But eyes that shine like tempered coals.
The schoolhouse leans against the sky,
Its roof a patchwork, spirits high.
The walls may crack, the floor may creak,
But voices echo when they speak.
They spell their dreams in broken chalk,
Each word a promise we dare to talk.
My salary is thin as thread,
But rich the stories in my head.
No polished floors, no polished shoes,
But lessons written in muddy hues.
Each tear I wipe, each hand I hold,
Is worth more than a crown of gold.
At times, I ache—I won’t pretend,
To see no doctor when fevers bend,
To watch a child with fevered skin
Miss class again, then drop within.
But still I come, still I stay,
Planting stars along their way.
Their questions come like summer rain,
Pure, untrained, and free of shame.
"Why do the rich live high above?"
"Can books be filled with real love?"
And I—just one with weary frame—
Hold back my tears, and praise their flame.
No cameras roll, no praises sung,
No headlines catch what's just begun.
But every word they learn to write
Pushes back a wall of night.
And if I vanish without trace,
I leave a fire in this place.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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Susantha Herath Poem
No Flag on the Hill
He woke to the hiss of burning plastic
a child's shoe, half-melted in the road.
Something like singing came from the mosque,
but it was only wind
through broken glass.
The birds left weeks ago.
Even the dogs are quiet now.
A rusted swing creaks in a schoolyard
where no one plays anymore.
A mother once painted the front gate blue.
Now it’s ash and wire.
Someone drew a border
right through our kitchen tiles.
They boil rice with rainwater and clove,
eat in silence.
Outside, a drone's red eye
blinks, blinks, blinks
and does not blink away.
Copyright © Susantha Herath | Year Posted 2025
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