Monday, 8 July 2013


The clay oil-lamps and their dull amber flames
Danced like her gushing fierce thoughts of shame
The bleeding black oil stained the soft gritty sands
With beads of sour sorrow that soaked her hands

The wrinkled old palms hunched together in prayer
With her sad glassy eyes on the blue dusky air  
Uttering of suffering of relentless despair 
Of incessant past samsaric burdens to bear

A lone frog croaked to the drone of the crickets
The street dogs howled to the full mooned heavens
The forgotten young waif got a rice-grain pittance
As the saffron robed monk sang the way to cessation      

Her slow strides crunched the dry leaves like music
As the blade at her head tore her hair like magic
Ending lifetimes of suffering crushing and karmic  
She drifted to a light afar from all tragic 

© Kamalika Jayathilaka