Many vastly different yet beautiful idea have come in to the page on Listen. They range from religion to love, perhaps informing us of the importance of putting this little word to action. The theme for February is ‘Brevity’. Please send in your contributions by Jan 31, 2017 to Madhubashini Dissanayake-Ratnayake, C/o The Sunday Times, No. [...]
Listen, I never dreamed. I would learn to love you so, You are as flawed as my vision As short tempered as my breath, Every time you say You love me I look for shelter. But these matters are small. Lying entranced By your troubled life Within as without your arms I am once again Scholarly Studying a way
Noora Raseet
LISTEN
Multi hued flowers are Spread on the altar A lit oil lamp Is placed at a corner With its flickering flame The incense sticks are Slowly burning down Spreading Their aura The serene Buddha is looking at all these silently. Listen! In a few moments the flowers will fade The lamp and incense sticks will burn And finish their fragrance. Our lives too will likewise fade away any moment.
K.L.W. Dayananda
NIGHT SOUNDS
Our cottage doors Are shut against the night. Listen! The night is awake! There’s life in the thick of darkness Inscrutable lives, Whiffs of animal smells Scrub-dwellers out foraging Mysterious movements Sly scratches on the back door! Sniffles, snuffles, wheezing Grunts, shuffles, murmurings. The owl in the front yard hoots In a quavering voice, The lapwing nervously laments. Listen! Clay pots on the backyard trestle Are knocked together Nosed off the edge. Thump! At first light, dismayed, We discover broken pots Manioc uprooted, gnawed white, The tasselled corn in shreds. Hoof and paw prints Stud the sandy ground.
Kamala Gunasekera
LISTEN
My Granddaughter clamps her headphones across my ears, commanding, “Listen!” From her mobile phone electronic dance music challenges my sensitivity. I savour the flavour, yet pique her curiosity to when I was a starry – eyed wench, requesting songs on the wireless, penning sentiments to announcers and having them read on air. Such fun. She deigns interest and retorts, “But Attammi, this is quicker.” Hers, a wizardly realm of tweets, texting, selfies and apps. She cocks an ear to my self-pampering rambles on long, ornate letter-writing, kitted up, studio family portraits and cinema-going outings, and titters,“Why grind?” when a screen touched delivers all.
K. Liyanage
LISTEN
Butterfly wings. falling leaves. Sparkling dew drops. What voice and what song?
