Have a penchant for writing heartfelt poems? Send in your heart songs to jayashika@nation.lk or snail mail The Nation – SOUL, 742, Maradana Road, Colombo 10. Please write ‘Heart Songs’ on the envelope or as the subject line of your email.



 Remembrance is filled with contour less pain
Deserted evenings confined to empty space
Watching the glow of the sunrays recede
And a storm wind bring on the rain
Memories turn into delicate stabs
But oblivion has no such strain
Could you but perceive the trepidation?
Hear the silent apprehension in my voice
Instead you see just the bravado
Not the whisper, the anguish, the unuttered pain
You miss the muted rhythms of my soul
And life becomes an unending maze
Without joy – without pain
I try hopelessly, ceaselessly to forget
But as the night deepens
Memories interminably flood my soul
And I do not know yet
Whether, namelessly, they cling to me
Or I still lean on them!



Deep, dark eyes
On red, lustrous skin
He watches me from a far
As I become more self aware
For I know I am the victim
Of his wicked little game

I cannot escape his eyes
Oh! My eyes ache
For I cannot break the stare…

Oh! My soul…
Moans for those demonic hands
To hold me
To crush me
To hurt me

Oh! My heart…
Weeps for those vicious lips
To kiss me
To sink those teeth in
And draw out the crimson

Oh! There is no escape…
No escaping the evil one
Once he sets his eyes upon you
You become the owner
Of a restless soul
That yearns your name
In his haunting whispers…
(Indulekha Nanayakkara)


I love you most in October

I love you most in October. That’s when I miss you most with a deep silent pain that seeps into me so much stronger than before.
When all is silent within me and I can feel October approach, I sit here in the darkness and think of you again. Dark nights and soft rain, with aloneness in the very air I breathe. The month that brought me into a world where I never felt I belonged.
Come back just for October if you won’t stay, I want to plead. But I have never shown you this weakness, this need to be with only you. You are the only one for me and you don’t even know it.
Come back to wipe away the tears and hold me again. Come to me even in a dream. They say what goes around comes around and you always reap what you sow. How true. You took your revenge without even trying, without even knowing. I suffer because I’m still in love with you.(G)


My Way

If my eyes begin to see
Only what your fingers point out to me
Will there be a sight
To keep my heart at ease………

If my ears have to hear
Only the voices you choose for me
My voice will go far away from me……

If you start filling my world
With the ones you want to be…….
All I lose is my ‘family’

Don’t touch what I so much cherish
And say ‘this does not please me’
After chasing my spirit away
For you, will there be anything in me…….?

(L.H. Dawpadee Kawshalya)


Perfect Strangers

I talked with you, a hundred words
I shared with you, a thousand thoughts
We stared together, at million stars
And yet my friend… we grew apart.

You came so close, I felt so warm
We danced in summer, we passed through storms
It felt so right, so tight and strong
But oh! my friend… some thing went wrong.

By and by, you went so far
Perfect strangers, now we are
The words and thoughts, and stars all gone
Where could be… the light that shone!

It’s too late, I never could show
What you meant, and much much more
Alas! my friend, you never may know
The sorrow I felt… to watch you go.


Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou (born Marguerite Johnson April 4, 1928 in St. Louis, Missouri) is an American poet, memoirist, actress and an important figure in the American Civil Rights Movement. In 2001 she was named one of the 30 most powerful women in America by Ladies Home Journal. Maya Angelou is known for the autobiographical writings I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969) and All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes (1986). Her volume of poetry, just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘Fore I Die (1971) was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.

When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pauses,
Their shoulders high like the
Breasts of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,

One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.

Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.









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