An application to the Whitehouse!

Sir! ,
Being given to understand that there are some openings arises in your honoured environment!
For the elders?
Herewith I submit my humble application for the same for your kind perusal.
I am Nimal and my beloved is Manel.
I am just passing at 61
and she's 58.
She cooks any type of food
and holding a Diploma for Cookery!
I am good for nothing
Just an old Pen-pusher?
But I love pets and specially dogs!
If you offer me the job to look after them
I 'll do it to the best of my knowledge Sir!
And I would like you to mention that our 40th wedding anniversary is getting closer and by the grace of God if selected us for this rare opportunity
We could have arrange our humble party there if permits?
I was a Seafarer for 15 years and a good painter too!
By the way I could have done some patchwork if possible?
Thanking you Sir in anticipation of a kind and a favorable reply,
With best regards,

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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Notification

I have been to a Social Services Agency today in California.
I was interviewed by a very kind and a polite Lady.
The building and the environment too very attractive.
She explained and gave me the writ.
'Your household's application for food stamps has been denied.
Here's why: You or a member of your household does not meet the requirements of United States Citizenship or eligible Non-Citizen status as established by food stamp regulations.
Your application for Medical dated today has been denied because you are not eligible for any of the following programs:
Medically needy program for a family with a child whose parent(s) is/are absent from home, deceased, incapacitated, unemployed, or working with limited earnings or Medically needy program for the aged, blind or disabled or Medically indigent program for pregnant women or Medically indigent for persons under 21.
Here's why:
You are not blind or disabled and you are not aged.
You are not pregnant.
You are age 21 or older, but under 65.
On the way back home I thanked God!
For not blind or disabled me and still not aged.
But I have some regrets as my beloved had a surgery before in the Uterus
And I too had a surgery in my Scrotum,
So we never get pregnant.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Stalking-horse

He was caught in the border by a sentry.
“Hey! You are an illegal immigrant and where is your Passport? ”
'I don’t have that sort of thing and I am a wanderer of world citizen.”
'It’s not an excuse. You should carry your Passport whenever you enter another country.”
“I told you once I don’t have.”
“Your good name please? ”
“Sentimental.”
“You carry my name and your country of birth? ”
“Earth Sir.”
“Parents are living? ”
“Yes. But who knows where? ”
“We have to take you to custody. You seemed to be a Terrorist or a Freak.”
“If you predict that much then I has no any objections. You are holding a weapon and I am a free fall.”
“Tell me exactly what your intention is? ”
“I am seeking an honorary citizenship.”
“That would decide by the court of Law and let’s go in.”
They dragged him to their country.
On the way he said to the sentry “You talked about the funny word [Law].
Immense and it’s happy to hear that your country has law-abiding people.
What do you think of the court’s decision? ”

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The Esplanade

Sitting on a stripped isolated bench
An immigrant watches the pious Churchgoers
In different dresses and their style of walking!
Snow flakes fall from the barren sky
Like the parentless embryos
And he thinks of his native country.
The cast iron bells of village ringing
And the deaf old priest,
Once his acquaintance with the strict Master.
He plays the role as an obedient servant to him
Who orders to sweep the entire premises
And he sniffs the Jasmine flowers
Scatter on the silent ground.
Almost forgotten the chants of Pali & Sanskrit
Miniature candles extinguished in the winds past
And that continuously whipped him by the time of cruel life!

*I humbly dedicate this poem to the finest short story writer Anton Chekhov in gratitude.[ Anton Chekhov's life was the epic novel he never wrote.By the spring of 1904 Chekhov was failing rapidly, which did not keep him from thoughts of entering the Russo-Japanese War as a doctor.Instead he let himself be persuaded to go to the German health resort of Badenweiler, near the Black Forest, for treatment.On the night of June 29 he described to his wife an idea he had for a story.A few hours later he was dead.His body was sent back to Moscow in a railroad car marked Fresh Oysters.]

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If life goes from bad to worst?

*Günter Wilhelm Grass (born 16 October 1927) is a Nobel Prize-winning German author, poet, playwright, sculptor and artist.

He was born in the Free City of Danzig (now Gdań sk, Poland) . In 1945, he came as a refugee to West Germany, but in his fiction he frequently returns to the Danzig of his childhood.

He is best known for his first novel, The Tin Drum, a key text in European magic realism and the first part of his Danzig Trilogy. His works frequently have a left wing political dimension and Grass has been an active supporter of the Social Democratic Party of Germany.

If life goes from bad to worst?
Picked him by an Ambulance
And taken to the Hospital
The old Blacksmith
Who collapsed on the modern concrete road.
Hard to recognize
Either Hispanic, Asian or African
From another planet?
Anyway a Man with a coma!
Heart beat and the pulse abnormal
And much perspiration?
In his hidden pocket
Found a chit
And this was written;

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An Unorthodox bird soars in the gloomy fundamental sky

My intimate friend flies so high
And I watch,
Sitting on my rickety bench.
The thuggery henchmen of the prominent gangster in the World
Laid a net and my bird friend was caught.
Oh! What's all these unnecessary pinching
And the puzzling Worksheet?
Who does the filling in the blanks
As my poor friend never been to a school.
Questionnaire on the settee table and they all seated on the sofa.
Full name, Nick name, Father's & Mother's name and their ancestors, Age and date of birth; is it legitimate? , Have you been to any radical countries within last five years? , Pedigree and the Religion et cetera, Are you a member to any society those who boasts of freedom of expression?
'Hey! This is a forged Passport and it's already expired and the photo not shows a bird and it's a stray dog.'
At last they found underneath her tattered wings
Oh! This poor gangrene poet's scribbling.
' Learn my friend, When you're in Rome do as a Roman do
But please do not hit below the belt,
When the gossamer life smiles with you; smile with her
But when she cries do not cry and please leave her aside
Sing a song louder from your heart as a Mockingbird.'

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The isolated Stable, My hardbitten days with a Pony and Cinema Theatres!

Whenever I pass the old stable here
While dropping my beloved wife
To the Day Care Center,
On the way back I stop for a while.
Oh! Poor Race Horses in the Victorian Era
Now very old and hard to neigh
Really I could count their ribs.
I am sorry That I couldn't bring you something to eat
Because I am out of a billet now.
Looking for a job and ckeck the vacancies everyday
That's written in the sky?
Not much Horse dung here otherwise I could have clean them voluntarily.
I flew back to my hard days Pony in an Amusement Park.
Borrowing my brother's Nikon F2 Mechanical camera
I took photos of the flowery children on horeseback
Developed and printed them in my life's dark room
Sold them cheaper at their doorsteps.
Out of few Rupees a lump sum to poor jockey
And a bag of brown sugar to the Pony.
Besides my beloved's pregnant for the eldest

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Mr.Parkinson

I thought he should go to the Zoo.
The gentleman who's sitting on a bench
in the amusement park.
In the summer evening he's in his bare body
And half of the animals in the jungle tattooed there,
And he seemed to be a tough guy.
When I just tried to avoid him and go to the other bench
He smiled like a child and started the conversation.
'I am Parkinson and you? '
'Nimal'
'Indian'
'No, Sri Lankan'
'That doesn't make any difference and I guessed that you're looking for a job? '
I said; 'Yes'
'You never get a job even if you get that won't be long last.'
'Why'
'Because you have a smiley face, try to be a hard hitter
Like Don Bradman,
Show a tough face like Tyson at all,
Not to women they're very kind

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Our 38th Wedding Anniversary!

Oh! My dearest Darling!
Here December 8th has come again,
Really it's a long journey for you
With a notorious Vagabond!
Isn't it and what we gained?
Nevertheless, I looked around patiently.
The old two suit cases on the cupboard
Very uneasy like a bankrupt Tycoon.
Do you remember that they were in good looking
On our wedding ceremony?
But now they are sadly wearied
Like us with great difficulties.
Few copper-bronze pennies
Still survive in my magical wallet by shining
And I hear their secret deep murmur
'We must fight each other and convert into golden nuggets
And give a full support to our beltless kind karate Master
Who fights with life forever.'
I was shocked and peeped to the shattered mirror
And saw my wrinkle face that reminds me a severe drought.

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A humble advice from a simpleton to a prodigal son of an old politician!

[Some artist has here taken the trouble to try to picture what it must have been like when Adam and Eve found their dead son Abel out in their field. One assumes that neither son came home when they were expected, and Adam went out to look throughout his cultivated fields and pasture and found dead Abel and the evidence of a fight. And had no idea of where Cain had gone. He appears here to be holding his chest where his heart should be. And Eve is sobbing uncontrollably like any mother would. I can only wonder why our Jewish author has not seen fit to write even one word about their grief. But all this too becomes very clear once we can all read the original Sumerian documents baked into imperishable brick that describes in great detail the history of *Kaen and Abael the sons of Adapa.. ]

Please do not squeeze the rainbow
As you won't get those colors as it is.
Why you pelt into the sky in vain
In case if that hits the Moon
She would be cracked soon?
Let the river flows quietly
And do not try to stop that
with your strong fist.
Keep your fantasy kite aside
Until you feel that wind blows.
And do not blame the weather
That cannot be changed ever?
Let your athletic father does all the miracles
And make sure dear*Kaen
Still that you're an apprentice?

nimal dunuhinga

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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