Dream of Escape
As the night watch drags
to an end,
the August moon
over the watch tower
flees upon
the gray wings of a lone moth.
The southern sea
gives up her dead
unto the leaden shore,
while a solitary turtle
digs a shallow grave
beneath indifferent starlight.
Blood clots
under mist-cloaked skies
on the road to Galaha,
as leaches cower
from silent footfall.
The Mahawatte hills look down,
a cottage burning in silence.
A mimosa on the threshold
sheds its filaments
in a dream
from a long time ago.
Bride of the Night blooms
over rusted barbed wire
amongst smashed pot shards.
And the jasmine spreads its scent
on the shreds of a baby’s shirt.
A doll’s head guillotined
stares on with one unblinded eye,
as Mother, Brother and Sister emerge
from the silent waves
of a river flowing darkly
to the sound of laughter.
The sun pours down
on a boy seated on a threshold
from a long time ago,
his mother with a plate of food,
is laying her hand on his shoulder.
Moths wings burnt
in the incandescence of searchlights
blow over shafts of a metal-grey dawn,
as morning sirens drag in
the carcass of yet another bloodied dream
from a long time ago.
to an end,
the August moon
over the watch tower
flees upon
the gray wings of a lone moth.
The southern sea
gives up her dead
unto the leaden shore,
while a solitary turtle
digs a shallow grave
beneath indifferent starlight.
Blood clots
under mist-cloaked skies
on the road to Galaha,
as leaches cower
from silent footfall.
The Mahawatte hills look down,
a cottage burning in silence.
A mimosa on the threshold
sheds its filaments
in a dream
from a long time ago.
Bride of the Night blooms
over rusted barbed wire
amongst smashed pot shards.
And the jasmine spreads its scent
on the shreds of a baby’s shirt.
A doll’s head guillotined
stares on with one unblinded eye,
as Mother, Brother and Sister emerge
from the silent waves
of a river flowing darkly
to the sound of laughter.
The sun pours down
on a boy seated on a threshold
from a long time ago,
his mother with a plate of food,
is laying her hand on his shoulder.
Moths wings burnt
in the incandescence of searchlights
blow over shafts of a metal-grey dawn,
as morning sirens drag in
the carcass of yet another bloodied dream
from a long time ago.
*In memory of a fellow comrade detained in Boossa Detention Camp, who suffered severe psychological trauma after his entire family was massacred in 1989 by the State armed forces in Mahawatte, a remote village in the central highlands of Sri Lanka.
By: Ajith C. Herath
Hiru /Nimthera/ August 1996
[Translated By- Hiranjaya]
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