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100
words on December
Bitter-sweet promise
Come December,
the year’s at an end.
Trees rest, huddled, mist wrapped.
And December holds a promise, bitter-sweet, fragile.
It conjures millennium malls, dizzy with dazzles
That scorch and shrivel the purse.
Tantalizing
ball-gowns, beaded, braided,
Spawn a dream that flutters, when price forbids,
Treats in church, goodies at the door, gift wrapped
In self complacent charity, and subdued spontaneity,
Which strangle the very joy of receiving.
But Hark, the
spirit lifts when the carollers sing
“Peace on earth, goodwill to men”
A war plane casts its shadow
Across the page on “Peace” the cleric reads.
Trees huddle close, the promise of December is fragile.
J.E. Rodrigo
The
symbol
With
memories of the enchantment
Of summer,
Of pollen-laden bee-drone, bird chatter
And the susurrus of human voices
Still throbbing slow
In the drowsy sap of dreary December,
Aloof, alone,
a stark skeleton
The tree stood,
Wind-bitter, cold, abandoned
In the forlorn meadow,
Skeletal fingers
Daring an infinite, indifferent sky
Yearning, unyielding,
Indomitable.
Ben Rasnaek
Full
of memories
December
brings back memories
Of holly and red berries.
Broken twigs on fallen leaves,
Faint footprints on the snow.
Memories of
nodding heads,
Piles of books on a table,
Cramming through the night
Burning the candle at both ends.
Strains of ‘jingle bells’,
Twinkling eyes and a muffled voice,
Hopes, dreams and smiling lips.
December brings
back memories!
Sriyani Hulugalle
Bleak
December
He said
he would come back by August,
But the year wasted away,
And it is now December.
All traces
of fall had been swept clean,
By last night’s angry squall,
So the trees now stand to attention,
With their hands up in the air.
Arthritis had
crippled their scrawny fingers,
Leaving them twisted and bitter.
They creak as they move, like old men
Who had surrendered their youth to the frost.
Slowly the
creeping darkness,
Would engulf hope of him ever returning.
The dismal trees with their black demeanor,
Mutely echo an agreement.
Shivanthi Balasuriya
Growing
old
Through
the window he gazes
Into the toy store
Inside it was a child’s heaven…
A five-year old with rosy cheeks
Laughs out loud
While trying each toy,
Horses that gallop around,
Cars and trucks that race,
Music boxes and silver bells.
The little
one plays…
Outside in the cold
He sighs to himself
He had passed that age
When life was a candy stick of yellow and pink
But now it’s the season of snow
Just like himself
The year had grown old
It’s December… so soon…
D. Wickramasinghe
Elder’s
home
Cool
breezes of December brush
Her worn out hair,
In this most awaited month.
She’s thrilled.
With sparkling eyes
Totters in the corridor
While looking at the sky, muttering
“My sudu putha, my dear son.
“He’ll
come here for the vacation.”
Takes out a photo, shows it to her worn out
Friends and kisses it with cold shivering lips.
Looking at the graveyard so cold
Waits… waits till he comes
To see the face once again
To live another year
To wait till December
Wasana Gunawardena
Gifted
month
The month
of splendid dreams come true.
When God came down to earth
As Man
To share our life of sorrow and blood
Joy and colours.
Oh, the month of December!
The month
When we can wait
With thrilling suspense
For golden gifts
Wrapped in silver paper,
Sealed with glorious love,
To come our way
On Christmas day.
December
The beautiful month
Of lovely cold, frosty mornings
When we can bask
And revel.
The ravishing month
Of December!
Priscilla Pereira
Herod
All first
born males - He had them to death while their mothers screamed,
while their fathers wept
Upon the bloodied thresholds, one December, cold.
Yet, t’
was not for him - the Myrrh, the Frankcincense, the Gold.
Rose Aserappa
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