100 Words since 1997
View(s):INK
We were barely eight years old
When first we used
Pen and ink in class.
Pens with G-nibs
Dipped in inkwells
Fixed firmly on desks
We inked letters and figures
A loop here, a curve there
On ruled paper
Learning writing skills
Blotting inevitable spills.
At school day’s end
Nought did we care
For ink strained fingers
And ink-splotched dress.
Alas! Cursive script
Like pens with nibs
And inkwells and blotters
Have become a causality
Of modern day life.
Kamala Gunesekera
The Stain
As I stood in the queue
To cast my vote
My mind was busy
Trying to think
As to whom I should vote
A placard nearby
With names and symbols
Of the candidates
Kept staring at me
None of the candidates
Was worthy of a vote
Very soon the tip of my pinkie
Would be smeared
With an indelible ink
I had to decide fast
Although the stain of ink
Would fade away with time
The stain of an unjustifiable vote
Will haunt me throughout
With that triumphant thought
I stepped out the the queue
Nimal Jayasinghe
Making choices
After weeks of arguments, accusations, insults and promises,
Decorations, loudpspeakers and posters,
When friends become foes
And foes become friends,
Engulfing life with excitement, expectation
There dawns the day,
When people are to make the choice,
Of who would deceive them and how,
With ink on the finger
And a cross on the paper.
Maya Arundhati
INK
She stood in the queue at the Katchcheri
In her Sunday best
Eagerly like her fellow villagers
To own a plot of land to call their own.
Gradually she came up to the table
Where the ‘mahaththaya’ was seated,
He read out her name, she nodded
With trepidation.
‘Sign here,’ he said, showing her
the paper;
Dumbstruck she stammered
‘mata akuru behe’
(I don’t know to write)
‘Never mind,’ said he
‘Put your thumb impression then.’
And showed her the ink well, into which
She plonked her left thumb
So relieved that she managed
To ‘sign’ for the deed of the land.
Nalini Damayanthi Mahawaduge
Letters from mother
Pretty new box for treasured old letters
Tied together with yellow satin ribbon
Mother’s sentiments watching over my life –
Wishing, encouraging, congratulating
Cautioning, counseling, comforting
Or merely things a mother felt
She wanted to tell her daughter.
I still remember the first note;
Just one sentence in big bold capitals
On pretty paper, when at five, I started school.
Which, evolved into the familiar
Long compositions in clear flowing hand,
On cream vellum paper, in black ink.
How nice it’d be if mother was here,
And put ink to paper reassuring me
I’m still whom she moulded me to be.
D de Silva
Pencil to Pen
Graduating from pencils to pens
Exuberant fourth graders
Showed off
Their fountain pens in glee
Ink bottle and blotting paper
Added status
Experiments galore
With artistic strokes
On every surface
We could see
Ink stained uniforms
Mums in despair
The miracle washing powder
Came to the rescue
Reaching eighteen
Final day at school
End of an era
A life event to be treasured
Tear eyed
We placed our signatures
On each other’s uniforms
With ball point pens
Whatever the ink
Friendships remain
Steadfast
Though the ink
Has blotched away.
Keerthi Wijekulasuriya
Forever yours
Under the skin of her breast, A throbbing pain
She holds on to a bundle of letters
Close to her heart; And closer to her hopes.
Communication was uncertain, But the love continued to live.
The last letter written about their newborn
Two years ago.
He promised her his return without a single bruise
Without the sign of a single bullet
His promise he held on to.
Never did she see him.
Disturbed ink by her tears
Blurring his last words
“Forever yours,
I’ll see you soon!”
Sashini Perera
| INK is about writing and books. The contributions here are mainly about memory, appropriate as that is the way memories are caught and treasured. The theme for January is ‘JOY’. Please send in your contributions before January 4, 2015 to Madhubhashini Disanayaka Ratnayake |