Boondi Lexicon

English Blog for Sri Lankan Literature, Arts and Politics


I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings


The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn

and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
-//-


*Maya Angelou is an American autobiographer and poet who has been called "America's most visible black female autobiographer. Her books, centered on themes such as identity, family, and racism, are often used as set texts in schools and universities internationally. Some of her more controversial work has been challenged or banned in US schools and libraries.

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When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.


When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.


When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.


When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I was not a Jew.


When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.


A poem of Martin Niemöller (1892–1984) [1]
(1976 version)

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Yes, I am Tamil!


When Weerasena was interdicted
And the sun was on fire
Above the textile factory
Shouting slogans
Screaming hoarsely
Brother Nadesan
At the flaming pickets
I was a Tamil

When Weere got the job back
Riding on the shoulders
“Long live brother Nade….!”
The victorious king
In the victory parade
I was a Tamil

When Siripala was shot
By the squad breaking the strike
Took him in my own hands
And flew to the hospital
I was a Tamil

Both hands punctured
With saline tubes
“Nade, you are my savior”
Sira, you embraced me sobbing
I was a Tamil.

When Kusum was pregnant
And dying on a hospital bed
They never demanded
Sinhalese blood
But just “O” negative
Only I happened to have
I was a Tamil.
“Son, you belong to uncle Nade”
the newborn
Was put in my hands
With tears flowing
Yet, I was a Tamil.

Weere, I hear your slogan
Suppressing the shouting
At the picket line
“Slay the Tamils! Give us the peace!”
“Give us the peace! Slay the Tamils!”

Sira, there’s no hospital here
Only a collapsed heap of bricks
Crushed into pieces
With heartless shelling

Kusum,
Oh! dear Kusum,
If you can see the flow of 'O' negative today
How I am being drenched myself in it
Too much to get absorbed
in to this parched earth...

In the graveyard of my race
Where, all our sons
And grandsons were slaughtered
Here I’m struggling all alone
to gasp at my last breath
Yes,
I AM Tamil!

-------//------
*Weerasena, Siripala and Kusum are Sinhalese names.
**Weere is the short form of Weerasena and Sira is the short form of Siripala.
***Nade is a short form of a Tamil name(Nadesan).

-Mahesh Munasinghe: “මම දෙමළ”
[Translated By: Ransirimal Fernando/Malathie Kalpana Ambrose]

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Till, January 26th


Flags, hoisted
Victory, revived
Epics, chanted
History re-written
Wild roars, screamed
Tears, renowned

Yet,
Those heart beats,
Whose voices were robbed?
Suppressed, buried
Concealed, denied.


Malathie Kalpana Ambrose
Jan,2010

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What is life?
[The Ruba’iyat of Omar Khayyam]

There was a water-drop, it joined the sea,
A speck of dust, it was fused with earth;
What of your entering and leaving this world?
A fly appeared, and disappeared.

Of all who went on this long road,
Where is the one who has returned to tell us the secret?
Take care of leave nothing for your needs on the two-ended way,
You will not be coming back.

I saw an old man in the wine-shop,
I said, “Have you any news of those who have gone”?
He replied, “Take some wine, because like us many
Have gone, none has come back.”

A religious man said to a whore, “You are drunk,
Caught every moment in a different snare.”
She replied, “Oh Shaikh, I am what you say,
Are you what you seem?”

I need a jug of wine and a book of poetry,
Half a loaf for a bite to eat,
Then you and I, seated in a deserted spot,
Will have more wealth than a Sultan’s realm.

You have seen the world and all you have seen was nothing,
All you have said and heard, that too is nothing:
Running from pole to pole, there was nothing,
And when you lurked at home, there was also nothing.

Suppose the world went as you wanted, then what?
And suppose this book of life were read through, then what?
Let me suppose a century of self-gratification left,
Even supposing we had a century more, then what?

See what I’ve got from the world nothing;
The fruit of my life’s work? Nothing:
I am the light of the party, but when sit down, I am nothing;
I am a wine-pot, but when I’m broken, nothing.

Every now and then someone comes saying, “It is I.”
He arrives with favors, silver and Gold saying, “It is I.”
When his little affair is sorted out for a day,
Death suddenly jump out of ambush saying, “It is I.”
-//-

[Selected Poems of The Ruba’iyat of Omar Khayyam
-From the Translated version by Peter Avery and John Health Stubbs]

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