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GRAINS - '100
word'
Thank
you for all your contributions to the '100 word' page on "Grains".
The theme for July is "Melody".
Please send in your contributions before June 28 to:
Madhubhashini Ratnayake,
C/o The Sunday Times,
No 8, Hunupitiya Cross Road, Colombo 2.
P.S. All work sent to this page may be edited.
Good thoughts
- grains of paddy
Seed paddy
is sown
Some fall on
rocky ground;
Some on thorny bush.
They germinate
but quickly die.
Their roots have not taken hold.
Seed that fall on fertile soil
Send their roots deep, into
Dark, mucky mud
bravely,
To find succour
and sprout.
The field is green
that special hue,
Simply, beautiful,
growing heavy
with grains of paddy.
harvested, the field remains
Brown, dry, rich beneath,
Awaiting more seed
to yield abundant grain.
Priyeni de Silva McLeod
Grains
On the
kitchen steps she sat, cleaning the rice: fine Basmati rice, ordered
especially for the wedding feast. She let a handful of the long
slender grains slip smoothly through her fingers and scatter, pitter-patter.
How silky the grains felt to the touch; silky, like the rich wedding
garments in the bride's room; like the expensive perfumed shawls
that came in such pretty colours: rose; lilac...
"Kamala!
Stop dreaming!" shouted the cook as he brandished a ladle,
breaking her reverie. The servant looked down at the grains; white
against her rough, brown hands. Back to work.
Reema Muhusin
Sparrows
I am sitting
at the airport, watching the sparrows
Through the huge plate windows.
The European sky is thickly clouded
And October fields sweep brown and stubbled
To the edge of the tarmac.
The sparrows
Are searching for grains of wheat.
They flutter and spin silently
On the other side of the plate glass windows.
There is more than a hint of winter in the landscape
And in my heart.
Anne Ranasinghe
Rain
The massive
rain,
Drumming a rhythm on the sheet roof,
Has made a little stream,
In the middle of the garden.
With it goes the little grains
That I planted yesterday.
Who said that rains
Will bring prosperity?
Chamindi Ekanayake
Happy
Moments
I wish
I had a camera
To capture this.
The happiest man
Could he be?
Throwing grains at wild birds.
A bird
Himself
Very free.
I envy you
Man
I have no grains
With me.
Sajeewani Apsara Fernando
Harvested
grain
The grain
was ripe
In the sweltering sun
We reaped it
Dreaming of fragrant grain
Cooked in a sumptuous meal.
The grain-filled sacks
Sat upon my weighted back
And rode home to my cooking pot.
The grain smelt foul
Tasted coarse, insipid
Like rotting food in garbage bins
Where worms and pethas lurk.
Who sowed this grain?
Not I surely?
A begger grovels in the dust
In hunger, let him lie.
A serving maid eats only
putrid scrapings from old porriage pots
She's known no better.
Greedy thoughts weave
round half filled alms bowls,
Why waste? That's enough.
was I the doer?
Is this my grain to reap?
Leila Ekanayake
Grains
I'm
in a bus
Passing through a village
On a road flanked by fields
In stretches of green.
Gingelly, rice, millet and maize
Wave in the breeze
With delirious delight.
Heavy with grain
The grasses bend
Soon to be cut
With sickle knife.
Some for food
To be stored in barns
Or picked by birds
Flying over head.
Others to fall back to earth to sprout again with new life.
Nirmala Louis
Homesick
Lying
on the couch, in the dingy apartment in New York, I recollect my
grandfather's lands of paddy, the grains of rice still in their
babyhood, swaying to the rhythm of the walk of the orange robed
bhikku on the toe-path. That is where I belong, tilling the soil,
not studying for a master's degree in International Affairs in this
alien land. In utter loneliness I begin to sing Namo, Namo, Matha...
A heavy wrist falls on my door. "Cut that crap... Son of a
Bi..." I close my ears to the tirade of abuse that follows.
Dinoo Abeysinghe
The future
As I hold up my hand
The pale grains of sand
Slip through my fingers
Like life's years slipping away.
A woman slowly sifts through the grains of rice
Searching for paddy grains.
The child by her side cries.
She cannot hold the grains of sand
In her little hand.
They slip away
As hours and days
Will slip away from her.
What will her future hold?
Will she, in time,
Grip life's chances firmly
Or, will she, like her mother
Pick paddy grains from the rice?
Lalitha Wirasingha
Hopes
The
peasant
gave a hard look at the scorching sun.
May not the heavens be angry, this time too...
May the harvest be in extravagant quantity filling each rice box...
In each household...
For he has dreams,
Higher than the mountains,
For the daughter a better dowry,
For sons, land to cultivate,
And for himself - life's contentment,
and stability to spread roots...
All depends on those tiny and golden grains.
Erandi Abeywardana
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