Clothes Line
Friends
Pacing up and down Galle road,
Muttering irrational words on her own
Wearing dirty and stinking clothes
Was this young woman…
Lying on the crowded dusty pavement
As if in trance or hit by bereavement
Insane with liquor and shouts of lament
Was this young man…
Encounter with the two of them daily
Brought pain, sadness and melancholy
'Cause both were 'mental' and lonely
Felt the heart of mine…
Psychotic, schizophrenic, paranoid, depression
Loss of relatedness to reality and environment
Little control over behaviour or condition
Was the state of that woman…
The highest scale of compulsive-addictive illness
Damaged mental and physical sickness
Loss of spiritual, social and psychological status
Was the reality of that man…
The scene on a Sunday morning at church
Was an astonishing shock
Only to the eyes that have been on the watch
Of them, were none but mine…
The insane to the wall leaned with calmness
On her lap the addict rested in quietness
She, stroking his hair with gentleness
This was an incident real…
What instinct brought them together
What happiness they found in each other
Will it last long or die to be never
This was my confused mind…..
Only a broken could comprehend the other
An insane and an addict could accompany each other
For both of them world is alien and strange, other
Is this the philosophy of mine………
Thaya Thiagarajah

Remembering Aunty Jessica
She was more than a teacher. She was my best friend. I never realised that her days were numbered and that God had already decided her fate.

I remember the times my friends and I gathered around her, and shared our memories with her. In pre-grade, I used to be afraid of the teachers, (naturally after watching a few TV programmes!) but when I was in Grade 2 and Aunty Jessica (when we were kids we called our teachers aunty) was my class teacher, my fears eventually ceased. She was adorable, understanding and kind. Never did I realise that her beautiful smiling face, her comfort, her voice and her very soul would disappear...forever. I never understood the deep sorrow in her eyes, but now I do, she was silently fading away like a flower towards its end. I never realised the suffering she underwent, until I found out the shocking truth. She was suffering from one of the worst diseases one could ever imagine, Cancer. I wasn't even able to attend her funeral, as I had been informed only after her death. Every time I glanced at the teacher's table, her radiant face, fair and pretty was with the pleasant smile she always had.

After her death, I realised, how sad the loved ones of those who die of cancer, must feel. I hope that the cure for cancer will be found, someday. I miss Aunty Jessica, still, after several years have passed...

Never will I forget you Aunty Jessica, ever...
Manel Haque

Life is a paint box…
I see life as being handed a box of paints full of all the colours imaginable. Some colours would be the very symbols of life, bringing out light, brightness and joy. Others would be dark, gloomy and depressing, representing the 'downs' in life that threaten to overshadow the whole process of living.

Would not that paint box be much better without these 'dark' shades? Would not our lives be much better without problems and obstacles? I think not …

I like to believe that those 'dark' shades are there for a purpose - to enhance the beauty of the colours epitomising all that is good in life. After all, where would 'white' be without ' black' to make it stand out? In the same way, those problems and obstacles that make life unbearable at times, only serve to enrich our lives by making the good times all the better and more worthwhile.

How I live my life is how I put my paint box to use. My canvas would be covered with inspiration, success and colours that make my heart sing but here and there, there would be dashes of black, brown, grey, standing for moments of despair, pain and even failure. Instead of ruining my painting, these 'dark' colours will only make it all the better by bringing out the 'living' colours.

I only hope that when my time comes, I will leave behind a picture that is a blend of colours - a pattern showing how I lived. Perhaps the colours in my painting will be a rainbow, stretching across the sky and giving people hope…
Soul searcher

Back to Top

Back to Mirror Magazine

Copyright © 2001 Wijeya Newspapers Ltd. All rights reserved.
Webmaster