I found your old Christmas card in my bookshelf

I love that water color painting
printed on your precious card!
In 2009, far away Salem church appears
with snow flakes
and a woodpecker rests
on a cypress branch.
Your boisterous flowing hand tells
' Thinking of you as Christmas
and wishing you only the best
in the New Year! We keep you in our prayers
Take care! '-Sandra & family.
Yes Madam! I am really worried of your long lull
And thank God! Your prayers worked out.
My colonoscopy results were good
The polyps they found in my large intestine were benign tumor
and not Malignant?
I am happy as I could scribble further
If my old friends appear soon?
Neighborhood birds started singing
in the absence of Virginian nightingale?

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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The sad Castle of our little World

Our new roost a tiny room
And no table and chairs.
I sit on the bed and scribble this
While my beloved tastes a chicken broth from a teaspoon,
And she stuck in the Kingdom of her Kitchenette.
'Darling where is that miniature cheap bottle of Whiskey? .
The previous night I kept somewhere.'
She measured and gave me a small sip from the same teaspoon.
Then I grumbled; 'Oh! It's not enough my painkiller as the World still rotates.'
She kept quiet angrily.
Through the broken window panes I see the faraway floodlights in a Stadium
And I whispered to my beloved; 'I would like to play football again like younger days.'
She smiled like Mona Lisa.

* To our dearest daughter Tharindu.Inoka
We received your graduation photograph and the copies of relevant certificates today.
We are so proud of your achievement, May the winds be always at your back.
Really we missed you darling!
Merits to Kelum! One of our precious Son-in-laws who struggled the entire journey for bringing you up to this standard.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Stagnant Sailor Hears The Old Ship's Whistle!

O This Wedlock!
How strong it's like concrete?
I dropped my anchor once
And thought it's a muddy bottom
No it's rocky?
And I cannot heave up the anchor
and sail again.
Wind is so wild and the Ocean's frozen!
If I get a chance soon I reach Portugal
The upper Railway station apartment in Lisbon
Deceased brother & myself we shared a delicious rotten
Tomato soup with a slice of brown bread,
The well learned cobbler Pedro Rodriguez
Who speaks little English like me
We discussed about the fine book of Eca De Queiroz's 'Sin of Father Amaro'
Jade eyed girl in Antwerp who said rain stopped
when I asked the umbrella
and in Cairo the Mummy in a Pyramid
gave me a lovable smile?
That middle aged Gypsy woman Varna in Yugoslavia

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Myself, Ego, Rooftop Restaurants and the Persian carpet

My Gabardine Coat, Necktie, Van Heusen shirt, Quadroy trouser
And the Dolce & Gabbana classic polished shoes
Like a mirror and I see my wrinkled face.
I take my meals in the Rooftop Restaurants
Most of the time,
I eat shark fin soup and Nasi Goreng
For the dessert a Marshmallow pudding
And I come down with the escalator
See my Alloy wheel Italian sports car Alfa Romeo in the parking lot.
My old Chauffeur takes a catnap there.
We go to Golf links and I strike the ball to infinity with the iron club
And by the time I think of old Chauffeur's teenage fashionable wife.
I gulp two or three Gordon's Gin pegs
And back home late at midnight.
My religious wife sniffs not Alcohol but the rare frgrance of perfumes.
I saw black diamonds in small pieces scattered on my bare body
And I found myself early in the morning sleeping on the Persian carpet
The ticks of my pet Chihuahua's running all over my body,
She still groans on her luxurious bed!

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A death in the opposite house!

[Mother-that was the bank where we deposited our hurts and worries.]-Thomas De Witt Talmage

I was sitting on a small chair
in the patio,
Like bygone Seafarer days on ship's deck?
And my beloved boils the Asparagus for tonight
in the kitchenette.
I count secretly who crawls to the funeral house?
A lady with an umbrella in this late evening drizzle
Squeezing my hand that resembles Ms.E-death in my nightmare,
inquires me; 'Honey! Funeral is here? '
I pointed out her the front house with my index finger
and murmured to myself 'Thank God! still I breath comfortable here? '

*Yesterday's Tuesday, April24,2012 @ 10: 00a.m. I scribbled this on a piece of paper in UMass Memorial University Campus, Worcester.
While I was waiting for my Colonoscopy test carries out by Doctor
Christopher Marshall, MD.My dear Mom! part of your humble dream comes true as I touched for the first time in my life, the campus soil, but I am sorry that 's not for your dreamy studies and for my sudden Endoscopy?

nimal dunuhinga

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Humble letter to the Queen

Honored Madam,
I take this opportunity to wish you a happy birth day as I saw in the BBC the celebrations,
Oh! What a lovely pageant.
My blessings, you may long-lived!
Sri Lanka is once a colony under your kingdom.
Thank God we got independence.
But Madam you left your precious friend in our tiny country
And his name is ' Divide & Rule' a real gentleman.
One day some innocents died of a bomb explosion
But your precious BBC showed only the empty bus.
I think some defect to their cameras?
This ethnic cleansing is a by-product of your factory 'The Imperialism'.
Never mind Madam we can forget the past as we are Sri Lankan.
But I humbly request a favor Madam,
if possible could you please minimize?
You're prominent BBC's (Prima Donna) partial yelp!
Thanking you in anticipation of a kind and a favorable reply.
I remain Madam,
Yours most obediently,
A scribbler,

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Hey! Handsome waiter you resemble my younger deceased brother

Please do not call me Sir!
As the honourable Queen
has not granted me that pseudonym yet?
You're one of my brothers and you want to know
What I am going to order today?
When our skinny Mom feeds us
Do we inquire whether it's skim,
Whole or cream?
She gave us her nourishing breast milk
without a measuring cup?
To fight with these mesmerized souls
who wear saintly robes and hiding their devilish surnames!
Brother! Not to keep any regrets for this small coin
As it's not a tip but a keepsake!
And the Election is Tomorrow
Isn't it?
Mom always mutters; 'Without any hesitation
go straight and vote to someone
who could smile from his heart?
Anyway I'll be here tomorrow

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Tent and the desert Horse

Sinhabahu (Sinha = Lion, Bahu = Hands) was father of Vijaya of Sri Lanka, the first Sinhalese King and king of Sinhapura.
According to the Mahavamsa's folklore (the chronicled history of Sri Lanka) , Sinhabahu's father was a lion and his mother a princess of Vanga. His hands and feet were like a lion's paws.
When Sinhabahu was sixteen, he escaped with his mother and sister, Sinhasivali, and arrived in the capital of Vanga. He later killed his father for a reward and was offered the throne of Vanga.
He refused the throne, instead founding the city of Sinhapura, in his native country of Lála. He lived there with Sinhasivali, whom he made his consort. They had thirty-two children, of whom Vijaya was the eldest and Sumitta the second.

This endless desert
In the awful night
An old bachelor
And a spinster
Looking for an Oasis
As they're thirsty.
How sad in the small tent
The travelling companion Camel has no place to rest?
Their different dialect when meets and he plays his loot
The taboos and barriers of the desert long last?

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I write to you because once I worked in your shipping trade

The earliest publication date for the 'Baa, baa black sheep' rhyme or poem is dated 1744. Music was first published for 'Baa, baa black sheep' was in the early nineteenth century making it into a song for children.
The handsome Dictator who cries in debris and he wants a solace it seems?

Under the British management.
Yes Boss! The Buddha said; ' There is no place to hide from our past sins
Not even in the Sky or on Earth,
Somewhere else.'
For the solace I quote this nursery rhyme in gratitude;
'Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?
Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full!
One for the master, one for the dame,
And one for the little boy who lives down the lane.'

*I dedicate this poem to the British Master E.B.Harrison, We worked together on a Libyan Tanker ship 'Um El Faroud' Twenty years ago.I remember the vessel carried crude oil from Benghazi, Tobruk and Tripoli to Italian ports.Oh! The heavy bags of wine we finished together, port of Siracusa & Augusta in Sicily.It's a fading dream and we're just old mile posts now.

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Sad cooing into the deep!

[Who being loved, is poor? ]-Oscar Wilde

Passing midnight
sleep boycotts,
I heard a coo
from a faraway
turtle dove's dark nest!
'On an auspicious day
You took my saintly husband away
Who's never been to a fight?
Still no letter sees
from the killing fields
and how long it takes?
When this brutal war's going to be finished? '
O I believe it's stronger than a bugle's blow
Deeper than the Ocean
And I was awake
till the dawn?
My sleepy thoughts dragged to the bygone days

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