Happy to have work included in Anam’s second edition. Thanks to Manu Dash and MK Ajay for selecting my work.
“Nulle prison n’enfermera ton poème” -Poetry reading – January 20-21, 2024
Happy to be part of this anthology of #poetry from around the world. I’ll be reading the French version of my #poem along with the other poets. My reading is on Sunday the 21st at 0310 Paris time which is around 0740 Sri Lankan time. See you there.
Saturday, January 20, at 20 o’clock, we will have the pleasure of presenting the poets who participated in the anthology “No prison will lock your poem”. “No Jail Can Confine Your Poem” has been published in Japan. Both anthologies will be presented at this occasion. The readings will last into the night.
On Saturday, January 20th, at 8 PM, we will be very happy to present the poets who participated in the anthology “Nulle prison n’enfermera ton poème”. A Japanese edition was published in Japan :”No Jail Can Confine Your Poem”. Both anthologies will be presented on this occasion. The readings will go on through the night.
Lyliane LaJoinie , Christopher Merril, Tamanna Mehrzad, Lise Gauvin, Ananda Devi, Chiran Paudyal, Juan Tausk, Eveline Caduc, Tamim Hamid, Sahel Saraj, Louise L. Lambrichs, Roopa R., Martine Lydie Jacquot, Haruka Tunnel, Zahed Mostafa, Marie-Rose Abomo-Maurin, Diane Knox, Tarik Günersel, Madeleine Monette, Myriam Garali, Hafid Gafaïti, Put on Moestrup, Judy Duncan, Vinith Bhandari, NIJO Cenka 二条千河, Neela Nath Das, Cain Cemetery Sign, Diane Régimbald, Davide Minotti, Denise Desautels, Katherine Young, Yoshiya Asato Asato Yoshiya, Goro Takano, Miwa OTA Daejeon, Nozomu Shibata Umeda view, Akira Okawada Urawada Temple, Juichi Noguchi Yuichi Noguchi, SAGAWA AKI AWA, Daniel Scott, Shirani Rajapakse, Tagayasu Mori Mori Temple, Sumire Yuzuriha, Freyre, Abhi Subedi, Evie Groch, Lawdenmarc Decamora, Shelly Bhoil, Motoyamasaki Mifuyu, Former Yamasaki Shufuyu,
Carole Carcillo Mesrobian , Somaia Ramish Nozomu Shibata and myself will introduce the poets from the above anthology during our Around the Earth Poetry Zoom.
Somaia Ramish, Carole Carcillo Mesrobian, Nozomu Shibata 柴田望 and myself will be presenting the above poets participating in our round-the-world reading.
Winner – 6th Boao International Poetry Awards
Samsara was awarded the Poetry Collection of the Year Award of the 6th Boao International Poetry Award, at a ceremony held in Hainan, China from 29-30th December 2023. So honored to receive it. I couldn’t attend in person but accepted the award virtually. Thanks to Cao Shui for translating my work and to the organizers.
Silver Birch Press – January 8, 2024
“Gold Dust” my poem for the SPICES & SEASONING SERIES was published today. You can read it below. Thanks, Melanie.
Gold Dust
by Shirani Rajapakse
I’m mixing portions
of spices,
dropping spoonfuls
into the vessel,
grinding them to a powder in an instant.
The heady aroma
of each spice shoots up my nostrils
making me sneeze like the neighbor’s
cat when she sticks her nose in cobweb
curtains in the room at the back.
Holding my breath each time I open
the lid of the grinder to peer inside, I check if everything
is turned to a fine dust with no pieces
hiding at the bottom.
My concoction for turmeric tea
ready to be bottled and stored.
My grandmother used the old grinding stone
now resting in a forgotten corner.
She’d grind raw pieces of turmeric root straight
from the garden. Sometimes she added water,
wetting it to just the right consistency to get it
moving under the heavy stone that she’d push over
up and down up and down until
the yellow sprawled across the black stone.
She’d scoop it up, roll into a ball in her hand
and place on a dish with other spices.
Colored globes sitting inside the fridge waiting
to be added to curries.
The few plants growing at the back of my garden
creep through crevices in stones now almost forgotten.
I tried to uproot them once, couldn’t reach right down
for the stones guarding them
like deities at the entrance to temples. Several
attempts and the deities graciously yielded
letting me dig up just one
as if to say come back later,
that one’s sufficient for your needs for now.
The deep orange yellow changed hue when
sun dried, the color becoming lighter, softer.
Golden turmeric.
PHOTO: Grinding turmeric roots into powder by Santhosh Varghese.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This is one of the hardest poems I’ve written. There was so much to talk about yet no space to add it all. It was as if all the images to do with spices that I carried around from the past to the present wanted to be acknowledged. Every spice has a story in my life. For this poem, I chose turmeric because it’s something I’ve been using as a daily medication for some time, turning to tradition for healing as opposed to propping up big pharma. The past few years have been a time to reflect on many things, resulting in a renewed interest in our ancient traditions. We’ve been using combinations of herbs, spices, and everything nature offers in its pure form as medication and healing for several centuries. However, the modern lifestyle didn’t leave much time to savor the goodness we had at our hands and most of us slowly drifted towards western medicines with their quick-fix solutions. As I started the journey of exploration, I began to be more appreciative of what we have right within our reach.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Shirani Rajapakse is a Sri Lankan poet and short story writer. Her publications include the award-winning Chant of a Million Women, I Exist. Therefore I Am, and Gods, Nukes and a whole lot of Nonsense. Her work appears in Dove Tales, Buddhist Poetry, Litro, Linnet’s Wings, Berfrois, Harbinger Asylum, Flash Fiction International, Voices Israel, About Place, and Mascara. Visit her at shiranirajapakse.wordpress.com, Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter (X), and on her Amazon author page.
Basso Profundo – December 26, 2023
A review of Offerings to the Blue God, published in Basso Profundo. You can also read it below.
“Offerings to the Blue God,” stories by Shirani Rajapakse
In her latest collection, Offerings to the Blue God, Shirani Rajapakse revisits themes on which she has expressed herself so forcefully in the past: the cheapness of non-combatant human life when bullies fight wars; the absolute terror many women must feel during life’s ordinary transactions; children forced into a lifetime of slavery, and the particular hopelessness when that child is a girl; and the self-defeating and sometimes infuriating steps one must take to follow pious rituals in supplication to gods whose representatives on Earth are only in it for the money. These themes recur with renewed focus and force in Offerings, plus we glimpse other tropes and new sophisticated structures which flare and flourish in her writing too.
For instance, Rajapakse shows terrific aptitude with stories that harbor surprise twists and “gotchas” at the end, and in each of the two cases here the door slams or the precipice disintegrates, and the results are indeed shocking, even ghastly.
The memorable character in a predicament, and the unadorned, straightforward language are both here in abundance, as we have come to expect from Rajapakse. Her decision to present her evidence in simple, forceful declaratives serves her purpose best, and she uses the tactic to good effect again. She lets her anger show without flash or authorial rant; she lets her readers’ natural vituperation well up from the stories.
But, like a couple of stories published here, this collection itself flies a silver lining, a final story that provides the “gotcha” of a young woman’s decision to turn her back on superstition, cynicism and greed. She makes an emphatic and highly symbolic gesture of discarding the old, which amounts after all to a scrap of paper scrawled with pious claptrap, into a drain in a gutter, flowing with mud and filth.
Pick up Offerings to the Blue God for her fresh take, and for the promise of hope for a rational world in the future.
Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards – December 2023
I didn’t win, but this is what the Judge, 31st Annual Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards had to say about Samsara.
“Samsara is full of powerful poems that wake the emotions of the reader. They are beautifully written while they emit strong interest, educate, and inspire. Many messages clearly demand your attention. The poems exhibit pleasant symmetry, balance, and flow. They are well thought out, delivered with style and design. The poet’s choice of words shows originality. Her use of alliteration brings a definite rhythm to many poems, adding to their readability. Reading the poems aloud, one hears the tempo, and the natural flow of words. The overall impact of these poems allows the reader to take them along and let them marinate in the back of the mind. This is a book to read over a long period of time to receive their full enjoyment. Then reread it again. It is a keeper. “
Poems published in Outlook India – November 20, 2023
As conflicts and war rage around the world destroying lives and property it’s important to look back at the devastation caused and the effects on everyone. The Place that Was is about the devastation left behind in Iraq; Hands in Protest is a response to the Occupy Wall Street Movement; and Letter to a Soldier from Another Time speaks about every deadly war waged since World War II. These three were published in Outlook India. Read below, or go here.
Poetry As A Chronicle Of Conflict
Here are three poems chronicling conflict through the years. The poems are about Iraq, the Occupy Wall Street protest, and every deadly war waged since WW II.
Updated: 26 Nov 2023 7:33 am
The Place that Was
Children born with
one eye, organs outside
bodies, ogres from my childhood
stories. Someone posted
photos online of secrets they wanted
to keep
hidden, locked away
in shame. Gifts
to the people
from the land of the free
showered from the sky night and day
at a madman’s decree for
sport so long ago. Testing
weapons of mass destruction, skin
melted on the bone, bodies alive
dumped in hospitals with no
medicines. Fallujah.
Best left unsaid. Un-
spoken.
Bombed out for fear the world will
see and be shocked. Legacy of the free
world. Genocide, war crimes, catch phrases to
throw around, human rights,
all these violations by other people
in different places. The global police
observe and take out
criminals in international fora.
The blue helmets look away
uninterested. But who’s there
to police the police?
Hands in Protest
Hands across the world
we are the masses. We protest injustice
that those in high office calls
justice. We weather the spray,
the gas, the beatings by the cops.
We will survive no doubt.
Even the freezing cold that beckons
day by day. We will survive like we
have always done
while the corrupt
will surely fade.
Letter to a Soldier from Another Time
Would you have believed that rifles
and bayonets would give way to
machine guns that rip holes in bodies faster than it took
to load a cannon and fire? Would you have believed
that flares lighting the sky,
gas that ate up flesh, turning your sight to water,
the stench of rotting, rotting, would one day
be replaced by missiles
screaming obscenities through the skies
to land in other people’s homes,
in kitchens as they cooked,
anywhere, everywhere,
turning the children in their wombs
into monsters no one wants to look at?
White phosphorous devouring bodies alive like
vultures black as the night.
Would you have believed soldiers
sitting in trenches shivering
in fear of an enemy to pounce would be replaced
by drones, unmanned, firing on targets,
anything that moved,
non-discriminating it could be the enemy,
a child going to school, a woman doing the washing,
an old man walking down the road.
Anything and
everything that moved.
How cruel is the world that invents misery
in the hundreds, how insignificant lives,
how selfish is man that he profits from war
fills his coffers from the sale of weapons, destroying
lives because he doesn’t like what they say, or do
while somewhere in a land he doesn’t care about
someone is busy filling graves faster than he can dig.
War is fought not in open battlefields,
in pits and trenches like yore but from faraway
places in air conditioned comfort. What would you
have said had you known? Would you have
been as appalled as you were then?
Shirani Rajapakse is a Sri Lankan poet and short story writer
Offerings to the Blue God
Published my new book. Offerings to the Blue God is a collection of short stories. This one’s set in Sri Lanka. It will take a couple of days to appear on my Amazon page. In the meanwhile, here’s the cover done by Hayley Faye. She’s been doing all my covers. This is probably the last cover from her as she’s retiring from cover design. Going to start the process of formatting the ebook in a couple of days.
Outlook India – Oct. 21, 2023
Three poems from Chant of a Million Women were published in Outlook India on October 21, 2023. The poems are about the women in the epic story Ramayana. Fault Lines is a two-voice poem between Sita and a modern woman, A Princess Wronged is Suparnaka’s version of history, and Lines of Control references both of them as well as other famous and not so famous women in history. The poems add to the dialogue on the women of the Ramayana and beyond. Go here or read them below.
Fault Lines
The lines on my hand
recount a story I can’t hide from you.
Sita stepped over the line.
Fortune visits those blessed to
lead the kind of life they desire.
She didn’t want to be restricted.
My life stretches before me a
long and winding road that
meanders through emerald
woods, ascends cliffs and floats
along streams rushing to wherever.
Fate intersects,
but I stand strong.
She was fed up, not
what she had agreed when they met.
Who was to say
the lines weren’t drawn to wander
on her palms?
Maybe they read it
and remained silent because they
couldn’t change destiny.
She was a woman
and had to be confined.
My lines travel the world, crisscross
continents,
scale mountains
to lose themselves in valleys deep.
She stepped out for
some fresh air.
I reap my own rewards.
She
was looking for adventure, a new life.
I pick
my path even if it is
wrought with fear and pain. Striding
with head held up, high heels
tapping my beat
to melodies only I want to sing.
What stood in front of her
was better than what she was
leaving behind.
I had an education, a job,
money at hand. I could do as I pleased.
They changed
the story. Said he
abducted her.
Said
she was
out
of
line.
I didn’t want him, ineffective.
He would bring me down to his level, a
worm slithering in the
damp undergrowth afraid
of the light.
Her strength.
His weakness to protect her.
I sent him away. I could do better
than that.
His shame took kingdoms to war.
Millions died, but those lives didn’t
matter; non essentials, expendable.
I refused to answer his call.
He pleaded
like
an
ant.
He dragged her
back, his trophy, his possession.
She insulted his authority.
I’m no one’s
treasure. Not a prize won at
a game not a plaque to
hang
on
the wall.
She wanted something more
than what she was getting.
I concur. Totally agree.
She was condemned.
I have an option.
She wasn’t given her preference.
She walked into flames, red hot she
rose. They still wonder.
Can’t make up their minds.
Can’t call him
a fool. Not after so long.
The narrative remains the way he wrote it.
They look on silently at my attempts
to rule my universe.
I stand strong.
A Princess Wronged
Easier for you,
flinging negative comments.
Making up stories, telling tales, dictating
the course of history the way you wanted.
They all believed the lie. I was ugly, you said.
Very ugly, you laughed to the trees
and the thunder grumbled, annoyed.
What difference did it make
if I was mutilated?
You cackled to winds.
You had authority. You had the scribes
falling at your feet waiting to
lap up words
gushing out your lips.
You made sure they recorded your views.
Not mine.
Never mine.
They weren’t there. They didn’t see.
Never knew me.
Only heard your words much later.
Did you stop to ask folks in the towns
we passed if they thought the same?
Could eyes be so deceiving everywhere?
But your words held sway.
Your truth had to do.
Their eyes were blinded with threats,
fear of fools that ruled.
It was the only way you could
start a war, coward that you were.
Get my brother to attack first, say it was his
fault, say he was vile, uncontrollable, lustful,
sinful, everything deceitful.
But I know,
your desire for me
destroyed my looks.
You couldn’t bear to not have what
you wanted.
No control. Left your wife at home alone.
Staring at her sister every day,
your brother’s wife.
You couldn’t have her.
Such a sad example for a man.
When I laughed in your face, rejecting
the ineffective thing in front of me, the puny
man not even the deer in the woods
took notice of,
that was the last straw.
Out roared your fury.
Your sword. My nose.
I didn’t deserve punishment, banishment
thrown out of my house, reviled by
the times to come.
I endured it all.
Through the ages my name rang
true peeling off the layers of lies,
and the future will learn.
Someday they will know.
I was beautiful.
Lines of Control
Refusing to be confined by
an invisible line, she crossed over to
the other side.
Oh the pleasure of decision making,
empowering for a woman forced
inside a house
detained in
an indiscernible circle drawn
by a man who had no respect for women.
Why else would he chop off
her nose and bring forth the wrath of
her brother?
She had enough of these fools that
called themselves men.
She reached the end of her tether
and wanted out. He was waiting
with his plane.
A flight plan already mapped out.
She was free, but only for a few blissful days.
He came to collect his looted treasure.
Another century
another place
she was acquired again, and again
the owner marched in to seize control.
Wars were fought.
Sita and Helen they both
wanted out,
out of the unpleasantness they were forced
to lead that wasn’t life, but
paid the ultimate price
for freedom and love.
Independence demanded
the ultimatum—she walked through fire,
but it wasn’t enough. He threw her away.
She grew old with despair.
Too many lives lost in vain.
The thousand ships sailed away.
Draupadi was pawned in a game of dice.
Srija was left in the drain.
Nirbhaya torn apart
and thrown out like trash.
Someone with a forgotten name was sacrificed
on the altar of commerce.
Little girls from a poor country sold as slaves.
Their bodies could warm gnarled old men.
Innocence stolen for adult pleasures.
Money spoke, eloquent like wine.
Children, always the children
forced to pay.
Everyday someone was ground in the dust.
The hands of the woman holding the scales
trembled with fury at the injustice,
but no one could take off the blindfold.
Aphrodite stood helpless to defend
without her arms.
But arms can do only so much.
The lines kept getting longer.
No one cared.
Remember how Magdalene
was condemned by
the old men seeking to make a
name for themselves?
Couldn’t bear the thought that she
was better, more intelligent than they were,
or that she was the chosen one
from all his crowd.
A woman selected to carry on his message.
How could that be?
Joan’s voices were damning the men
they didn’t like the attention
she was getting.
Too much publicity for a mere village girl.
She had the Dauphin in her hand.
They wanted him dancing to their tune.
She thwarted their plans.
The stakes were too high. She had to go.
No one survives a fire.
It was easier to call her a witch,
dangerous,
might do strange things to the children.
They were out of line,
all of them. Had to be brought under control.
Of the men.
Scream!: International Anthology of Artists Against Women Violence
My poem is among the 39 poems included in this anthology that was launched on Oct. 13, 2023. Check it out here.
Poetry Reading in Colombo
I’m reading #poetry on Oct 7th at O2 Cafe, Bambalapitiya. Here’s the rest of the lineup plus the program for the day.
Bosphorus Review of Books – September 2023
The Old House on Seventh Avenue started as an exercise in an online writing course I participated many years ago. It uses a certain trick as it were, and was hard to write because I not only had to stick to the condition I imposed on the writing but also had to make sure the flow of the story didn’t suffer as a result.
You can read the story here, along with stories and poems by other writers, or check it out below.
The Old House on Seventh Avenue
by Shirani Rajapakse
One is such a lonely number. You recline against the dozen or so comfortable cushions on the dark pink sofa and listen to the quietness around you. Sadness treads softly across the floor and creeps along the four walls reaching up to the ceiling like a trailing plant. A copy of last week’s newspaper rests on your lap while the two sports pages sprawl at your feet. The image of the cricketer, one arm raised high with the ball firmly in his grasp and a triumphant look on his face, stares out at the world. The cup of tea sits on an old slightly chipped saucer on the three-legged table at your side. You bought that rather unimpressive looking table at the garage sale on Fifth Lane many years ago. You remember like it was yesterday, although it must have been about ten or twelve years ago. You’d gone there with him and your two besties. The four of you were inseparable in those days. That is, until the foursome became a twosome.
The three-legged table wasn’t all that special. It was just a little round table that had three legs instead of the usual four. Everything else in the house had four legs – the tables, chairs, cupboards and beds. You thought the three-legged table with the heavy round top would look unique. He painted five flowers on the tabletop to make it stand out more. Five creamy pink araliya in a tight bunch right in the middle with a couple of leaves and one long stem that appeared to curve around the side and disappear below. Another three araliya blooms and a single leaf hung from a stem on one of the legs.
“Three flowers to represent the three legs.”
He joked about it when you questioned why he painted them all on one leg leaving the others bare.
“Why does it matter if they are all on one leg?”
He refused to paint any flowers on the other two legs even though you insisted repeatedly. Those two legs were unadorned. There wasn’t even one tiny leaf on them.
“Why not paint three birds as well? Three little birds on the three legs. You can place them at three different levels all flying up the legs of the table towards the bunch of araliya at the centre.”
He didn’t appear to be interested in what you suggested to him two days after painting the blossoms, although he seemed to be in a better mood that day.
“Three’s a crowd.”
“But you’ve got three flowers?”
“Three flowers are very different from three birds.”
“Why, is there something special about having only three flowers and not three birds?”
“I don’t want to paint three birds.”
“Then have one bird.”
“Why would you want one bird?”
You remained silent for seven or eight seconds as you didn’t have an answer to that question and he had smiled in that strange way you had got so accustomed to. It made you feel comfortable, that unusual smile you’d first seen when you both met at the Ten-to-Ten café next to campus. You were with your two best friends while he was there alone. You were married within three months. Two years later it was all over, burnt out like a meteor that had hurled through space at breakneck speed and crashed far too soon.
You slide one finger gently over the surface of the table as if the touch could bring to life the araliya painted on it. He’d finally given in to your sweet-talking and agreed to your wish, although rather reluctantly, and painted a bird on one of the legs, the one that is the farthest from you. One solitary little bird hovering on a table leg, its wings spread out as if in flight, gazing up longingly as if the look alone would make it possible for the bird to reach the flowers at the summit.
You’ve been sitting for so long you don’t realize it’s already four p.m. You’re not wearing your watch but the old clock hanging in the dining room, the one you inherited from your grandmother along with the beautiful dresser with roses carved into the fine teak in bunches of three, chimes the hour. You tilt your head ever so slightly to the side and listen to the deep resonance of the chimes striking one, two, three, four times cutting into the serenity of your surroundings. The tranquility that descends after the final chime fades away lasts for about twenty five seconds, or maybe it’s less. You place your lips tenderly against the edge of the wide cup and cautiously take two very small sips of the hot tea and let your eyes track the steam as it spirals out of the cup and disappears. Suddenly the silence is splintered by the soft but insistent meowing of a cat that sounds like it is calling out in two syllable rhymes.
“Mee-ow, mee-ow,” it cries out twice then stops to listen for a returning call or a response from anyone. But there is no one to answer the cat today.
Four demalichchas fly in to perch on the telephone wire that stretches along one side of the road to chirp their news to the world as noisily as they can. They are joined by two polkichchas that listen attentively, but don’t comment. Six birds, each bird balancing on a single wire look as though they are six notes on a sheet of music hung up in the sky. You smile as the image takes you back to your second date at the concert.
You waited for him for ten long minutes outside the hall in the pouring rain. With no umbrella for protection and no room to shelter inside the jam packed lobby you were soaked to the skin in a thousand and one angry raindrops pelting you from above. Hair plastered to your head, damp clothes stuck to your body like a second skin, you walked in looking as though you’d taken a couple of spins, or maybe just one extremely long spin inside the washing machine. Your drenched appearance got you a few dozen pointed looks but that didn’t bother you as you ignored all and walked in with your head held high. Row eighteen seat number six was right under the air-conditioner that was on at full blast making you shiver with the added chill. Although it was probably about ten feet overhead, it seemed as though the cold air was flowing directly onto you. You were able to suppress the noise of blowing your nose, but that one time you sneezed loudly was at the exact moment the movement ended and everyone turned to see who was making such a racket. That was the first time you had felt so embarrassed in public.
About a half dozen little hummingbirds hover over the flowers in the garden. Who would have thought that at precisely eleven forty-nine in the morning your joy would end? There was no one to be with you, none to hold you in their arms or enclose your two shaking hands in theirs and tell you it was going to be alright. He had been the worst thing that happened to you, but he was also the one person you really cared about. It didn’t matter that the feelings weren’t returned or that he had put you through hell from the day you found out about his lies five months after your second wedding anniversary. You confronted him two weeks later and although he vehemently denied every piece of evidence you threw at him he eventually admitted everything. It took him all of four hours to pack his things and he was out of the door. He filed for divorce within seven days and the battle that would rage on for several years started. You couldn’t bring yourself to agree to let him have everything when you had every right to a portion, several thousand in cash, or at least half, including what was rightfully yours.
One little tear hops out of your left eye and scrambles down your cheek in a haphazard line. Another one follows, and another and another and another as you let yourself feel the sadness you should have felt a long time ago. All those emotions that you’d pushed back for the past six or seven years jostle at the gates waiting to be set free. The dam overflows spilling out dozens of little translucent salty tears that bathe your cheeks, flow down your neck and get lost in the collar of your powder blue blouse. After what seems like an eternity but was probably just a minute or two the flood of tears subside. You reach out and grab two tissues from the box on the coffee table to wipe your face. You blow your nose thrice, clear your throat and wonder what would happen to you now that he is no more. How would you settle the bills, where would you find the money even for one bill when you don’t have a job?
Leaning back against the plush cushions you sigh silently and listen to the wind rustling through the branches of the two coconut trees at the side of the house as if trying to tell you something, but the inability to understand the language of the wind prevents you from talking to them. You count the number of times the fronds of the coconut branches rattle softly against each other – one, two, three.
Suddenly, your phone that’s been lying on the table at the back of the room shrills loudly and almost jumps up twice in shock. You take a deep breath, calm your racing heart and wait until the sixth ring to rise unhurriedly to your feet. The newspaper slides off your lap and falls down joining the sports pages to scatter in four directions. Picking up the pages you hastily pile them on top of the two books on the coffee table. It takes eleven steps from the sofa to where the phone is. Twelve if you count that first step, the one when you placed your foot on the floor but didn’t move, waiting for your other leg to start.
You don’t recognize the caller, however, the last three digits appear somewhat familiar. He repeats his name twice and says you met him a long time ago although you don’t recall. It’s just any one of the numerous strangers that have passed through your life during the past nine years. However, it’s the first four words he utters after introducing himself that makes you wish you were seated.
“He left three million.”
“Three million, three million?”
You gasp out twice not quite sure if you can believe what you just heard. You pinch your arm with the first and thumb of your other hand, the one not holding the phone. It hurts and you know you are awake, it’s not a dream, and the millions are very much for real. You are elated, three million, three million you repeat twice and then three more times a little louder at each word. You grip the edge of the table to steady yourself and take two long deep breaths to slow down your racing heart. Another three long breaths and you begin to feel better as calmness settles in. You smile widely for the first time in the day. After all that you went through the millions seem like a miracle. It will be more than enough to pay the dozens of bills and live comfortably for the rest of your life, if you are careful.
Disconnecting the call and placing the phone back on the table you stare at seven ants hurrying along the wall in a crooked line. The two in the middle bump into each other every few steps. They remind you of the drunken men at the corner of Second Cross Street where the tavern stands. There are always at least four tipsy men at any time of the day trying to get to someplace on legs that don’t seem to respond to their commands. You lean over the table and blow softly on the line of ants climbing up the wall and they scatter in five directions. Lifting your hand you push one of the ants, making it change direction and go the other way. You attentively observe the ants for a few minutes, may be three, or is it only two? They seem to sense where each other are and after a while the seven ants regroup and return to their journey up the wall.
You turn around to face the two windows. The curtains are drawn to the sides and you have a perfect view of the three marigold plants right outside. There must be over a dozen beautiful flowers among the three short shrubs. They nod their heads in the warm breeze but the one flower at the side seems to be tired and hangs its head rather miserably. It won’t last more than a day or two and maybe it’s sad because it knows its days are numbered. You retrace your steps towards the sofa, however, instead of plonking yourself down you proceed towards the two open windows.
Three crows fly in from somewhere to perch on the compound wall at the side. It’s unusual for crows to be out so late in the day, but there they are, not one but three, talking about something you don’t understand. Two types of birds whose names you can’t remember sing out their versions of sorrow as a little squirrel looks on. When the birds pause in their song the squirrel chirps an interlude, and one crow caws in tenor. The cat meows thrice in a series of staccatos that appear to be coming from the garden next door. Two yellow butterflies flutter past the window like dancers on trapeze, pausing for a second or two to acknowledge the marigolds and admire their brilliant hue.
That strange noise rattling inside your brain almost like a thousand and one kettledrums is no longer audible. You wonder where it went but the two crows that join in on the song outside caw loudly and stare at you pointedly as though they are urging you not to go in search of anything, least of all weird noises that you have no use for anymore. Sit there, sit on that sofa next to the three legged stool and listen to us, they seem to be cawing. You wonder if you should call someone, but realize that there is really no one to call. Sighing softly you take three short steps back and fall on the sofa. You stare vacantly at nothing in particular for about five minutes as strange thoughts swirl inside your mind then gradually fade away. A smile touches the corners of your lips as you hum softly and tap a finger on the three legged table, one tap for each pink flower on the surface and two taps for the little bird trying to fly out of the leg. Peace floods your insides like a hundred and one gentle waves washing ashore at the rim of the lake you visited not so long ago. One, two, three they move in to wrap around your veins, your bones, lapping at the edges making you feel like you are cocooned in a warm embrace. Halting your soft tapping you curl your first finger round the handle of the cup you’d placed on the saucer. Lifting the cup to your lips you take one sip of the tea that’s no longer hot and steaming as you like it. However, that doesn’t matter and you take two more sips before setting the cup down on the saucer. You stretch your arms to get rid of the stiffness that seems to have settled in stealthily, tilt your head back, close your eyes and roll your neck round and round, three times to each side. Pushing your hair away from your forehead you smile contently as a little gust of wind drifts in through the two tall windows. Its tender fingers flutter against the skin on your face and arms like the gentle feet of a thousand tiny butterflies doing a happy dance. Slowly, very slowly, awareness dawns on you that one is really not the lonely number you had conditioned your mind to believe all these years.
Shirani Rajapakse writes poetry and short stories. She’s the author of six books including “Chant of a Million Women” winner 2018 Kindle Book Awards, USA as well as “Gods, Nukes and a whole lot of Nonsense” and “I Exist. Therefore I Am”, 2022 and 2019 State Literary Award winners, Sri Lanka. The latter was also shortlisted for the 2019 Rubery Book Awards, UK. Rajapakse’s work has won and been placed in other competitions. Her work also appears in many journals and anthologies including Silver Birch, International Times, Poetry Lab Shanghai, Dove Tales, Buddhist Poetry, Litro, Berfrois, Flash Fiction International, Voices Israel, Mascara, Counterpunch, New Verse News, Cultural Weekly, The Write-In, Harbinger Asylum and more. Rajapakse’s poems have been translated into Farsi, Spanish, French and Chinese.
Women Scream – poetry anthology 2023
Honored to be the only Sri Lankan poet to have work selected for women scream’s new anthology.
Essay for “World Poetry for Total Peace, Pedagogy for the New Life”
The theme for this years Poetry festival is “World Poetry for Total Peace, Pedagogy for the New Life”. My contribution is titled “An Eternal Law of Peace”. You can read it below.
An eternal law of peace
By Shirani Rajapakse
“Nahi verena verani – Sammanti’dha kudacanam
Averena ca sammanti – esa dhammo sanantano”
Gauthama Buddha
“Hatred never ceases through hatred in this world;
through love alone they cease.
This is an eternal law”
Pali translation by Venerable Narada Thero from the Dhammapada
Over two thousand five hundred years ago Gauthama Buddha explained about the need for peace, not merely within ourselves but also among people and all those living beings. His message spread across Asia and has reached almost all parts of the world. Many scholars, learned individuals and leaders have since spoken about and encouraged peace. Yet we still don’t seem to understand the meaning of these words and the terrible consequences of our actions against peace.
Writing from the trenches of World War I poets like Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon and others have spoken about the horrors of war and what it does to humanity, giving us reasons to think twice about the effects of violence and the toll on the lives of people caught between conflicts.
In an article titled “The War That Will End War,” published in The Daily News on Aug. 14, 1914. H.G. Wells predicted that WWI would be the last war. Following this, in 1917 US President Woodrow Wilson claimed that the war will “make the world safe for democracy”.
Sadly none of this has stopped people going to war. We are today at the brink of World War III. Looking back it appears we have never really been at peace. Since the end of World War II we have seen conflicts scattered around the world with the casualties far out numbering those of World War II. Wars were fought over ideology, oil, religion, territory and now world powers are gunning for an excuse to drag the world’s citizens into world war III, a war that might not see any winners.
What is the status of our future? How do we prevent the world from hating on its own kind because of differences that don’t make any sense? Are we able to stop this mad rush towards annihilation?
Poetry is the oldest form of communication. People from ancient times have used poetry to express their feelings, describe events and also caution society about the ill effects of our actions. People have turned to poetry for solace, to express grief, sorrow and grievances. Poets have always been sensitive to express emotions unlike others and poets have been in a position to voice the unspeakable in a manner that is not problematic to anyone.
However, is it merely enough to write? How do we teach poetry and demonstrate the deeper meaning of life to new and aspiring voices of poets? How do we teach poetry for peace?
Reading poetry to children from a very young age teaches them about the beauty that exists around us. It also teaches them that life, in every form is sacred and has meaning, even to the tiniest of beings. It speaks about the interactions of humans with nature and the world around and creates a sensitivity to and understanding of the power and beauty of words and what they can achieve. It is therefore encouraging to see that Venezuela has taken a giant step to take poetry to children by creating a Poetry School placing poetry as a key element in nurturing positive actions and peace.
Poetry can’t change the world or what happens in the future, however, poetry can make us think of our actions and the effects they have. It can sooth us, help us cope with grief and loss. It can make us laugh and reminisce about all that is good around. It can also inform and instruct. Poetry is isn’t just words; it is art, it is music, it is dance. Poets can create a culture of peace that cuts across barriers of geography, language, race and religion. This then is the mission of the poet. It is what we should all strive for if we want to see a future that is better than what we have right now.
The devastation of conflicts have left terrible scars on the lives of all that have been at the brunt end of them. Countries that were once livable places are now ghosts of what they were. Large numbers of people have been displaced and live outside their traditional homes. A new generation will grow up not knowing where they came from or what it was like before it all came crumbling down. On August 6th the world remembers the devastation wrought on Hiroshima and Nagasaki 78 years ago. These cities are a reminder of the horrors that man is capable of in his quest for power. As poets and artists we should espouse the words of the wise and call for peace and restraint at all times, reminding all of the terrible consequences of actions that once set in motion, can’t be undone.
Shirani Rajapakse is an internationally published Sri Lankan poet and short story writer. She’s the author of six books including “Chant of a Million Women” winner 2018 Kindle Book Awards, USA as well as “Gods, Nukes and a whole lot of Nonsense” and “I Exist. Therefore I Am”, winners 2022 and 2019 State Literary Awards, Sri Lanka. The latter was also shortlisted for the 2019 Rubery Book Awards, UK. Her work appears in International Times, Silver Birch, Poetry Lab Shanghai, Dove Tales, Buddhist Poetry, Litro, Berfrois, Flash Fiction International, Voices Israel, Mascara, Cultural Weekly and more.
33rd Medellin International Poetry Festival, 8-15, Colombia
It’s a pleasure to be participating in the 33rd Medellin International Poetry Festival and the 1st World Poetry Congress. Thanks to Fernando Rendon, Luis Eduardo Rendon and the organizing team. I’ll be reciting poetry on July 9th, 11th and at the closing ceremony on the 15th.
An Evening with the Gratiaen shortlist – May 27, 2023
Some moments from yesterday’s event at Expographic bookshop with the rest of the Gratiaen shortlisted writers, Yudhanjaya Wijeratne, Chiranthi Rajapakse and Isurinie Mallawaarachchi, in conversation with Nelani de Costa. Thanks to Pradeep Samaranayake for hosting us and Venura Chandramalitha Ratnayake for the photos.
Exploring karma and rebirth – The Sunday Times, May 28, 2023
This was published in the Sunday Times today.
Exploring karma and rebirth
Continuing our series on the writers shortlisted for the Gratiaen Prize 2022, Yomal Senerath-Yapa talks to Shirani Rajapakse
View(s):
The title of Shirani Rajapakse’s latest collection of poetry – Samsara – lays bare the journey through the landscapes of eternity it proposes to traverse. The seasoned scribe, for whom this is her second shortlisting, is this time moving away from the theme of her previous two collections, “Chant of a Million Women” and “Fallen Leaves” which were about rights, and issues pertaining to rights.
Samsara is an exploration of human nature and how we see ourselves in this swirling cycle of rebirth and death.
Shirani Rajapakse: Second shortlisting for the Gratiaen
“We don’t care to question or
Think about the reason why
We are here, lest it
Make us wonder why we
Do things the way
We do…” – “The Karmic Trail”
The poems are “a series of incidents, observations and reflections of what takes place through time and space and how we react to them”.
Shirani has garnered quite a reputation abroad for both her poetry and prose. This came about after her first shortlisting for her debut Breaking News: the win left her feeling at a loss about what to do; since she had reams of writings she thought of publishing a book a year – an impossibility in the current publishing scene. So she instead sent her material to foreign literary journals, which finally led to her garnering a fan base abroad.
Following this, “Chant of a Million Women” was her first self-published book and won a “Kindle Book Award” for poetry.
Another reason for her popularity abroad she says is that she addresses global issues.
“Zuccotti Park Rises” is an early poem about the Occupy Wall Street Movement in the US; “The Shower” that was a finalist in the Anna Davidson Rosenberg Poetry Awards is about the holocaust; “The End of Summer” is about the devastation of Iraq and the children caught in the crossfire while “On the Beach” was a response to the bombing of Palestinian children playing on a beach. “I Will Rise” is a poem that was written in response to the firebombing of a bookshop in the UK. “September” is a poem remembering 9/11…
Shirani’s former guru at the Kelaniya University, Dr Lakshmi de Silva once commented on Shirani’s ‘fluid play of images’.
Says Shirani, “I see the situations I write before I write them. It’s like a movie playing out in my mind where I direct the action that is to follow.”
The images are not static; they can be forceful and somewhat overwhelming or subtle:
“Bright pink bougainvillea running up walls
Spreading over
The roof tiled in a traditional design.
Looks like the embroidered chiffon saree I wore
Last night now heaped on a chair, the ends
Lifting gently with breezes wafting inside.” – “Moving in another Plane”
As a practitioner of prose Shirani has been praised for her stories straddling diverse social milieux.
“Breaking News” is her only collection that’s set in Sri Lanka. The other two collections “I Exist. Therefore I am” and “Gods, Nukes and a Whole Lot of Nonsense” are set in India. Both the latter books were State Literary Award winners.
In “Emerald Silk” the narrator is a young woman living abroad who is trying to break free from the confines of a world she finds alien and unsuitable; the “Boy from Wellawatte” is about a young Muslim man who couldn’t speak good English but returns from abroad with such a pronounced fake accent that even his friends can’t quite understand; “Man from the East” deals with a rather amusing situation where a young Sinhala woman from a middle class family is looking for a bridegroom; “Missing Pieces” details the hope of a young soldier from a remote village whose world is shattered when he loses a leg in battle and has to adapt to a new life; and “Photographs in her Mind” is about a Tamil mother who attempts to go on with life carrying this horrific memory of witnessing her children forcibly taken away by the LTTE.”
“I like narrating stories from varied points of view because we aren’t all the same,” says Shirani. “It’s challenging to get into a character’s mind and try to tell a story from a perspective that isn’t mine. Different voices and experiences bring a certain richness to stories.”
Gratiaen Jury member’s comment about Samsara
“A book that stood out for its range and control. A poet who is deeply involved in her art and is able to engage the reader with it.”
Sukanya Wignaraja
Member of the Jury of the Gratiaen Prize, commenting about Samsara while announcing the shortlist on May 17, 2023.
An Evening with the Gratiaen shortlisted writers – May 27, 2023
All four Gratiaen shortlisted writers will be meeting for a chat at Expographic Bookshop on Saturday, 27, May.
An Evening with the Gratiaen shortlisted writers – May 27, 2023
If you are in the area, drop in at Expographic Bookshop this Saturday at 4.30 pm for a chat with us three #gratiaen shortlisters in conversation with Nelani de Costa.
Expographic Books
Join us at the Expographic Bookstore for an evening of Nelani De Costa in conversation with Chiranthi Rajapakse, Shirani Rajapakse and Isurinie Mallawarachchi Don’t miss out on this conversation on May 27th from 4.30 to 6 pm at our Bookstore located at 455, Pannipitiya Road, Pelawatta, BattaramullaChiranthi Rajapakse – Author is the author of the short story collection Names and Numbers which was shortlisted for the 2017 Gratiaen prize. Her latest collection of short stories Keeping Time and Other Stories’ was recently shortlisted (in manuscript) for the 2022 Gratiaen Prize.
Shirani Rajapakse is an internationally published poet and short story writer. She’s the author of six books including Chant of a Million Women, winner of the 2018 Kindle Book Awards,USA, Gods, Nukes and a Whole Lot of Nonsense and I Exist. Therefore I Am, winners of the State Literary Awards, Sri Lanka, in 2022 and 2019. The latter was also shortlisted for the 2019 Rubery Book Awards,UK. Her work appears in International Times, Silver Birch, Litro, Mascara and more.
Isurinie Mallawarachchi is a lecturer, attorney-at-law and a bilingual poet. Her work touches on love, heartbreak, sex and self-exploration. Flowers Teach Me To Let Go is her first collection of poetry
Nelani De Costa is a lecturer at the Department of English and Linguistics, University of Sri Jayewardenepura. She holds an MA in Gender and Women’s Studies from the University of Colombo and BA (Hons) in English from the University of Sri Jayewardenepura. She researches in gender, queer literature, Sri Lankan and South Asian literatures, dystopian studies, and film.
Gratiaen shortlist in the news – Sunday Times, May 21, 2023
Evening of sharing their craft as Gratiaen shortlist is announced
By Yomal Senerath-Yapa
View(s):
Lively discussion: Dino Corera has a chat with the longlisted writers. Pix by Nilan Maligaspe
This year’s Gratiaen shortlist was revealed on May 17 amidst camaraderie, canapés and cocktails at the British Council library- where the prize was thought up by Sri Lankan- Canadian author Michael Ondaatje and named after his mother Doris Gratiaen, exactly 30 years ago in the British Council lawn, or so the story goes.
Established with the money Ondaatje won for the 1992 Booker Prize for The English Patient, the Gratiaen is now the most prestigious award for English writing in Sri Lanka and this year’s shortlist shows a variety that has been hard-bred through three decades.
Prior to the shortlist announcement Dino Corera hosted a Q & A where he coaxed out the secret writing lives of the eight long-listed authors adeptly, coming up with insights into the intricacies of the literary craft, the sharing of which is something at the heart of the Gratiaen’s perennial commitment.
Tera Jayawardene, the youngest Gratiaen trustee and Ondaatje’s grandniece, announced the launch of the all new Gratiaen Young Writers’ Club.
The Gratiaen shortlist for 2022 is as follows:
Isurinie Anuradha Mallawaarachchi for her collection of poetry – Flowers Teach Me to Let Go
Chiranthi Rajapakse for her short story collection – Keeping Time and Other Stories
Shirani Rajapakse for her collection of poetry – Samsara
Yudhanjaya Wijeratne for his novel – The Wretched and the Damned
The judges this year are Romesh Gunesekere (chair), Sukanya Wignaraja and Dr. Kaushalya Perera. The prize will be announced on June 17.
Gratiaen shortlist in the news – The Observer, May 21, 2023
This was what The Observer published.
30th Gratiaen prize shortlist
Launch of Gratiaen Trust Young Writers Club
21 May, 2023
Shortlist from left: Carmeline Jayasuriya, John Keells Foundation, Prof. Neloufer de Mel, Chair, The Gratiaen Trust, Isurinie Mallawaararachchi (Gratiaen Prize Shortlister), Shirani Rajapakse (Gratiaen Prize Shortlister), Chiranthi Rajapakse (Gratiaen Prize Shortlister) and Orlando Edwards, Country Director, British Council. Not in picture Yudhanjaya Wijeratne (Gratiaen Prize Shortlister)
The Gratiaen Trust in association with the John Keells Foundation partnering with the Trust for the fourth successive year and with the support of the British Council as its event partner, announced the shortlist for the 30th Gratiaen Prize and launch of the Gratiaen Trust Young Writers Club recently.
Of the eight longlisted writers, four have been short-listed for the next stage of the competition: Flowers Teach Me To Let Go by Isurunie Anuradha Mallawaarachchi (poetry), Keeping Time and Other Stories by Chiranthi Rajapakse (short stories), Samsara by Shirani Rajapakse (poetry) and The Wretched and the Damned by Yudhanjaya Wijeratne (novel).
This year the Gratiaen Prize marks its 30th year and an unbroken record of recognising and promoting Sri Lankan writing in English. This year the jury for the prize is chaired by Romesh Gunesekera, an internationally acclaimed writer who has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize and is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature; Sukanya Wignaraja, a psychotherapist by profession, a former editor at Oxford University Press, New Delhi, and an avid reader of literature; and Kaushalya Perera, a Senior Lecturer in English at the University of Colombo whose research interests span linguistics and literature. The composition of the panel reflects the Gratiaen Prize’s longstanding tradition of representing three perspectives: a creative writer, an informed general reader and an academic.
The H.A.I.G. Goonetileke Prize for Translation, a biannual prize for translation from either Sinhala or Tamil into English is also being awarded. The judging panel for the translation prize includes Prabha Manuratne, a Senior Lecturer at the Department of English, University of Kelaniya and a well-known film and literary critic who writes both in Sinhala and English, Dr Ponni Arasu, an activist, historian, theatre practitioner, lawyer and translator who works in Tamil, and Kaushalya Kumarasinghe, a Sri Lankan Sinhala language novelist and translator. The H.A.I.G. Goonetileke Prize for Translation has no shortlist and the winner will be announced at the main Gratiaen Prize event on June 17 at Westminster House, Colombo, the official residence of the British High Commissioner in Sri Lanka.
Neloufer de Mel, Chairperson of the Gratiaen Trust, said, “These Prizes in this milestone year are very special to the Trust. They mark 30 years of concerted, voluntary effort to enhance and support English creative writing in Sri Lanka. A year when Shehan Karunatilleke won the Booker Prize 30 years after Michael Ondaatje, marks a time in which Sri Lankan literature in English is increasingly gaining traction on the world literary map. To continue supporting these writers, the Trust has expanded its work with Master classes and workshops, and we thank all our sponsors, particularly our principal sponsor John Keells Foundation, for enabling us to hold these events”.
As its latest initiative, The Trust has introduced the “Gratiaen Young Writers Club” to promote and provide a platform for “next generation” writers to emerge and build a peer group network. This is an exciting new initiative to bring together young people who share a passion for writing. The club seeks to create a community of young writers who can support, help and inspire each other to achieve literary distinction. The Club will provide a platform for writers from diverse backgrounds to meet, collaborate, share their work, receive feedback, and explore writing in various genres and styles of creative writing.
Marking the 30-year of collaboration with the Trust, the British Council, Sri Lanka hosted the shortlist event as it has done from the very beginning of the Gratiaen Prize. The Trust has also embarked on an exciting program in collaboration with the British Council to bring down writers from the UK to conduct literary workshops, a children’s literary event, a master class and several other initiatives throughout 2023 extending into early 2024.
Held in various parts of the country, this program will facilitate access for different communities to access literary events, discuss and practice creative writing towards building a strong base for English literary creativity in Sri Lanka.
“Shattered” translated to Urdu – Humsub Pakistan, May 16, 2023
My flash story “Shattered” that was published in W.W. Norton’s “Flash Fiction International: Very Short Stories from Around the World was translated into Urdu recently by Khalil Ur Rehman and published in Humsub, Pakistan.
He said he translated it because the story was relevant to Pakistan as it was going through a period of terrorism just like Sri Lanka.
Here’s the Urdu translation. I’ve also included the original story in English below the translation.
تباہ حال – شیرانی راجا پکسے کا افسانہ
مترجم: خلیل الرحمان
Shattered
Writer: Shirani Rajapakse , Sri Lanka
Flash Fiction International ; Very Short Stories from Around the World
اپنے دھیان میں مگن وہ سڑک پر چلی جا رہی تھی جب اسے اپنے سامنے ایک دھماکے کی آواز سنائی دی۔ دھماکے سے مضبوط حفاظتی باڑ ٹوٹ گئی اور اس کے ٹکڑے سارے میں پھیل گئے۔ وہ وہیں ٹھہر گئی کیونکہ اس کے پاس جانے کے لئے اور جگہ بھی کوئی نہیں تھی۔ اس کے پاؤں فضا میں معلق تھے اور بال سڑک کی پگڈنڈی پر بکھرے ہوئے تھے۔ اس کے اردگرد روشنی کے کوندے سے چمک رہے تھے اسے اپنے سر میں مسلسل گونجدار آوازیں سنائی دے رہی تھیں۔
اس کے بائیں کان کے پردے میں تواتر سے زوں زوں کی آوازیں آ رہی تھیں جو کہ اس مسلسل ہوتی ہوئی چنگھاڑ میں سے باہر نکلنے کی کوشش کر رہی تھیں۔ نقاہت کے عالم میں اس نے کن اکھیوں سے اپنے کان کے پردوں کو بغلی راستے پر تیزی سے گرتے ہوئے دیکھا، یوں لگا جیسے انھیں اس کے کانوں میں مسلسل گونجنے والے شور سے پرے کسی بھی جگہ کہیں دور جانے کی جلدی تھی۔
ندیشا جانتی تھی کہ وہ زمین پر گری ہوئی تھی کیونکہ اسی دوران کوئی بہت تیزی سے دوڑتا ہوا اس کے ہاتھ کو کچل کر کسی دوسری سمت کو نکل گیا تھا۔ لیکن وہ اپنے سر کے عین اوپر چمکتے ہوئے سورج اور ویساک کے تہوار کے دوران گھروں اور سڑکوں کے ساتھ روشن نیلے، سرخ، زرد اور سبز رنگوں کی بے بہا روشنیوں کی وجہ سے یہ نہ دیکھ پائی کہ وہ کون تھا۔ ندیشا نے چلانے کی کوشش کی لیکن سڑک بھی اس کی آواز کی طرح تباہ حال اور کٹی پھٹی حالت میں اس کے ساتھ ہی زمین پر پڑی آہیں بھر رہی تھی۔ وہ ناں سن سکتی تھی ناں تو دیکھ سکتی تھی اور ناں ہی بول سکتی تھی۔ اس کی حالت ان تین سیانے بندروں کی سی ہو چکی تھی جو کہ ایک دوسرے میں مدغم ہو گئے ہوں۔ کیا ہوا؟
وہ ہلنے جلنے کے قابل نہ تھی۔ ندیشا نے خود کو اسی سڑک کے فرش پر گرے ہوئے محسوس کیا جو کہ کچھ عرصہ قبل تک اسے خود پر سیدھا چلائے رکھتی تھی۔ اسے کچھ محسوس ہو رہا تھا مگر وہ یہ بتانے سے قاصر تھی کہ وہ کیا تھا؟ کیا یہ اس کے ساتھ ہی پڑا ہوا اس کا اپنا بازو تھا جس پر لوگ چڑھ رہے تھے یا پھر ایک بھدے سے انداز میں بکھری پڑی اس کی ٹانگ تھی؟ وہ حیران تھی کہ آخر کیا تھا یہ سب؟ تبھی اسے احساس ہوا کہ وہ اب وہاں نہیں تھی۔
کسی نے سڑک پر چلنے کے لیے اسے دائیں طرف کھسکا دیا تھا۔ اس عورت نے اپنے سینے کے ساتھ بم باندھ رکھے تھے اور وہاں سے تھوڑی دور آگے کی طرف جا کر اس نے خود کو اڑا دیا۔ یہ بہت بڑا دھماکہ تھا جس کی آواز ندیشا نے سنی، بادلوں کی گڑگڑاہٹ سے بھی ہولناک اور پرشور، اور یہ پہلے والے دھماکے سے زیادہ سخت تھا۔ اب وہ وہاں نہیں تھی۔ لیکن پھر بھی ندیشا نے خود کو حرکت کرتے ہوئے محسوس کیا، وہ اس سمت میں جانا چاہ رہی تھی جہاں اسے جانا تھا۔
لیکن کیسے اور کہاں؟ اسے اپنے گرد شدید حدت سی محسوس ہوئی۔ اس کے گرد جوہڑ سا بن رہا تھا لیکن بارش تو ہوئی ہی نہیں تھی۔ روشن سورج، گندے پیچدار سیاہی مائل دھوئیں میں سے اس پر چمک رہا تھا۔ جوہڑ ایک چھوٹا سا تالاب بنا اور پھر اس تالاب نے ایک ندی کی شکل اختیار کر لی۔ پھر اس ندی نے پانچ میل کی مسافت پر واقع سمندر کی جانب چلنا شروع کر دیا۔ اس کے جسم سے بہنے والی رطوبتیں پگڈنڈی پر سے ہوتی ہوئی سڑک پر بکھر رہی تھیں۔
بہت جلد یہ سمندر کا حصہ بن جائیں گی اور اس کو اس بات کا یقین تھا۔ اس نے بہنا شروع کر دیا اور رستے میں دوسرے لوگ بھی اس کے ساتھ شامل ہو گئے۔ چھوٹی چھوٹی ندیاں اپنے سوالوں کے جواب کی تلاش میں ایک ہی سمت میں بہتی چلی جا رہی تھیں۔ انہوں نے ایک دریا کا روپ دھار لیا تھا۔ وہ سمندر کی جانب اس طلب کے ساتھ بڑھے چلے جا رہی تھیں کہ وہ انہیں اپنے اندر شامل کر لے۔ ادھر ان کے چاروں طرف لوگ چیخیں مار مار کر آسمان کو اپنے سروں پر اٹھا رہے تھے، وہ سب لوگ جن کے سر سلامت تھے۔
وہ دیکھ تو نہیں سکتی تھی اور سن بھی بمشکل ہی سکتی تھی لیکن محسوس سب کچھ کر رہی تھی۔ وہ مکھیوں کی طرح گر رہے تھے اور باقی لوگ بھی ان کے ساتھ شامل ہو رہے تھے۔ اور یہ سب اس لیے ہوا تھا کہ اس نے دہشت گردوں کو چیلنج کرنے کی جسارت کی تھی اور اس دن کام پر نکل آئی تھی۔ لیکن ایسا کرنے میں آخر کیا برائی تھی؟
Shattered – Shirani Rajapakse
She was walking down the road minding her own business when the sound exploded in front of her. It shattered the sound barrier and sent off sparks in all directions. She stopped in her tracks; there was nowhere to go. Her feet flew in the air and her hair touched the pavement. Lightning flashed all around her. Thunder roared inside her head. Her left ear drum beat a series of staccatos and strained to pop out as the thunder roared its way down her ears. From the corner of her eye she faintly saw the ear drum roll away along the pavement as if in a hurry to get someplace, any place, other than her loud resonating ear.
Nidisha knew she had fallen to the ground as someone trampled on her hand in a hurry to get to somewhere else. She didn’t see who it was for the brightness of the sun overhead and the million and one flashing lights in her eyes; blue, red, yellow and green like the brightly coloured lights hung in homes and along roads during Vesak. Nidisha tried to call out but the road to her voice was cut open and lay gasping on the ground next to her. She couldn’t hear, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t speak. She was like the three wise monkeys all rolled into one. What happened?
She couldn’t move either. Nidisha felt herself lying across the pavement that not so long ago held her feet upright. She could feel something but wasn’t quite sure what it was she felt. Was it her arm lying by her side, the one trampled on? And was that her leg jutting out in an ungainly manner? What was it, she wondered? It was then that it struck her that she was no longer there.
Someone had taken away her right to walk on the road. That someone had strapped bombs to her breasts and exploded herself not so far away. That was the loud noise Nidisha heard, louder than thunder that shattered her a few minutes ago. She was no longer there. Yet Nidisha still felt herself moving, willing herself to walk to where she was supposed to go. But how, and where?
She felt warmth flowing around her. Puddles were collecting but there was no rain. The bright sun glared at her through the ugly grey smoke swirling, swirling around. The puddles became a small pond and then took on the shape of a stream. It began to flow, flow towards the ocean five miles away. Her juices were flowing out fast and furious down the pavement and all over the road. Very soon it would reach the ocean, of that she was certain. She flowed and as she did others joined her on her way. Tiny streams seeking answers, they flowed in the same direction. They turned into a river. They flowed into the sea waiting to take them in.
And all around her people were screaming their heads out. At least those that still had them on. She couldn’t see, could barely hear but she could sense it all. They had all dropped like flies and there were more to come. And it all happened because she had dared to defy the terrorists and go to work that day. But what was so wrong with that?
Gratiaen shortlist in the news – The Morning, May 18, 2023
This was in The Morning.
30th Gratiaen Prize shortlist announced
2 days ago | By Shailendree Wickrama Adittiya
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The Gratiaen Prize, awarded annually by The Gratiaen Trust since 1993, is celebrating its 30th anniversary with a shortlist that includes poetry, science fiction, and short stories. The shortlist was announced on Wednesday (17) at the British Council, and consists of Flowers Teach Me to Let Go by Isurinie Anuradha Mallawaarachchi, Keeping Time and Other Stories by Chiranthi Rajapakse, Samsara by Shirani Rajapakse, and The Wretched and the Damned by Yudhanjaya Wijeratne.
The panel of judges this year is chaired by author Romesh Gunesekera, who could not be at the shortlist announcement. However, fellow judge Sukanya Wignaraja, who is a psychotherapist and coach, made the shortlist announcement, with Dr. Kaushalya Perera sharing more details about the choice of work.
“We had a wide range of entries this year in terms of genre and subject matter, and from what we saw, also authors. Poetry made up about one third of the entries. And we could also see that the political and economic events of the last year were very evident when we read the whole list of works, and that came up again and again in many different ways,” Dr. Perera said. She added that the judges also found a significant amount of focus on fantasy and psychological trauma and impressive entries in drama and young adult fiction. “Reading through all these texts gave us a very real sense of the wide scope of Sri Lankan literary writing in English,” Dr. Perera said.
She shared that, as jurors, they looked for writing that showed control of language, craft, meaning and distinctiveness. “We had a few rounds of discussion to select both the longlist and the shortlist. And I am happy and relieved to say that our choices for the longlist and the shortlist were unanimous,” Dr. Perera added.
Three decades of supporting creative writing
The Gratiaen Trust is celebrating an important anniversary this year, as The Gratiaen Prize will be awarded for the 30th time. While the winner will be announced on 17 June, The Gratiaen Trust Chairperson Prof. Neloufer de Mel explained that the prize recognises the best submitted creative work in English by Sri Lankan authors resident in the country.
Sharing that Sri Lankan literature in English has been in the shadows for a very long time, Prof. de Mel said: “These past few years, Sri Lankan literature in English has been claiming its own space and gaining traction, with Shehan Karunatilaka’s Booker Prize win coming 30 years after Michael Ondaatje won the Booker and founded the Gratiaen Trust.”
Listing other local authors who have gained recognition globally, Prof. de Mel said: “This country and Sri Lankan life yields a rich storehouse of stories and our job is to support and promote the talent of these writers and their craft to make these stories legible – to make them sing and resonate with readers here and elsewhere.”
In addition to The Gratiaen Prize, the trust will also be awarding the H.A.I.G Prize for Translation this year.
Shortlist venue partner
Delivering the welcome address at The Gratiaen Prize shortlist announcement was British Council Country Director Orlando Edwards, who shared that British Council has been the venue partner for The Gratiaen shortlist announcement since 1993.
“We are delighted to be here 30 years later celebrating the 30th anniversary this year, and I’m told in fact that the inauguration of the prize itself by the great Michael Ondaatje took place one sunny day on the lawn of the British Council. This year, we are very pleased to be providing additional financial support for The Gratiaen Trust as part of our contribution to the British High Commission’s 75th anniversary celebrations,” Edwards said.
He added that the British Council this year has a rich portfolio of cultural activities, with plans to develop broader global writing communities. “Through our partnership with The Gratiaen Trust, we’ll be bringing talented UK writers to Sri Lanka and finding new ways to showcase both well-known and emerging UK writing talent to Sri Lankan audiences.”
Supporting art and culture
John Keells Foundation, the corporate social responsibility (CSR) entity of the John Keells Group, is the primary sponsor of The Gratiaen Trust. Speaking about their relationship with the trust as well as their support for the arts in Sri Lanka was John Keells Group, Head of CSR Carmeline Jayasuriya.
“John Keells Foundation’s partnership with The Gratiaen Trust falls within our focus area of arts and culture, which is one of our pillars under CSR, which also includes education, health, livelihood development, environment sustainability, and disaster relief,” she said.
Jayasuriya went on to say that their support of the arts and culture may be a question mark to some, especially considering that John Keells Group is a corporate entity. “Why we do it is because we feel that arts and culture are very critical to the country’s success and progress, and its vision in the outside world,” she explained.
Gratiaen Shortlist in the news – YAMU, May 18, 2023
This is what YAMU published.
The 30th Gratiaen Prize shortlist was announced with the launch of the Gratiaen Trust Young Writers Club.
- May 18, 2023
- 9:08 am
- Trending
The Gratiaen Trust in association with the John Keells Foundation partnering with the Trust for the fourth successive year and with the support of the British Council as its event partner, announced the shortlist for the 30th Gratiaen Prize and launch of the Gratiaen Trust Young Writers Club on 17 May 2023. This year out of the eight longlisted writers, four have been short-listed for the next stage of the competition: Flowers Teach Me To Let Go by Isurunie Anuradha Mallawaarachchi (poetry), Keeping Time and Other Stories by Chiranthi Rajapakse (short stories), Samsara by Shirani Rajapakse (poetry) and The Wretched and the Damned by Yudhanjaya Wijeratne (novel).
This year the Gratiaen Prize marks its 30th year and an unbroken record of recognising and promoting Sri Lankan writing in English. This year the jury for the prize is chaired by Romesh Gunesekera, an internationally acclaimed writer who has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize and is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature; Sukanya Wignaraja, a psychotherapist by profession, a former editor at Oxford University Press, New Delhi, and an avid reader of literature; and Kaushalya Perera, a Senior Lecturer in English at the University of Colombo whose research interests span linguistics and literature. The composition of the panel reflects the Gratiaen Prize’s longstanding tradition of representing three perspectives: a creative writer, an informed general reader and an academic.
The H.A.I.G. Goonetileke Prize for Translation, a biannual prize for translation from either Sinhala or Tamil into English is also being awarded. The judging panel for the translation prize includes Prabha Manuratne, a Senior Lecturer at the Department of English, University of Kelaniya and a well-known film and literary critic who writes both in Sinhala and English, Dr Ponni Arasu, an activist, historian, theatre practitioner, lawyer and translator who works in Tamil, and Kaushalya Kumarasinghe, a Sri Lankan Sinhala language novelist and translator. The H.A.I.G. Goonetileke Prize for Translation has no shortlist and the winner will be announced at the main Gratiaen Prize event scheduled on the 17th of June 2023 at Westminster House, Colombo, the official residence of the British High Commissioner in Sri Lanka.
Neloufer de Mel, Chairperson of the Gratiaen Trust, said, “These Prizes in this milestone year are very special to the Trust. They mark 30 years of concerted, voluntary effort to enhance and support English creative writing in Sri Lanka. A year when Shehan Karunatilleke won the Booker Prize 30 years after Michael Ondaatje, marks a time in which Sri Lankan literature in English is increasingly gaining traction on the world literary map. To continue supporting these writers, the Trust has expanded its work with Masterclasses and workshops, and we thank all our sponsors, particularly our principal sponsor John Keells Foundation, for enabling us to hold these events”. This partnership falls within John Keells Foundation’s (JKF) focus area of Arts and Culture aimed at nurturing the livelihoods of artists, enhancing skills and opportunities and showcasing Sri Lankan talent towards safeguarding and promoting Sri Lankan arts and culture under its overall vision of “Empowering the Nation for Tomorrow”. In addition to JKF, the Trust also gratefully acknowledges the support of the Wijeya Group of newspapers and the Marga Institute, which is its Secretariat.
As its latest initiative, The Trust has introduced the “Gratiaen Young Writers Club” to promote and provide a platform for “next generation” writers to emerge and build a peer group network. This an exciting new initiative to bring together young people who share a passion for writing. The club seeks to create a community of young writers who can support, help and inspire each other to achieve literary distinction. The Club will provide a platform for writers from diverse backgrounds to meet, collaborate, share their work, receive feedback, and explore writing in various genres and styles of creative writing.
Marking the thirtieth year of collaboration with the Trust, the British Council, Sri Lanka hosted the shortlist event as it has done from the very beginning of the Gratiaen Prize. The Trust has also embarked on an exciting program in collaboration with the British Council to bring down writers from the UK to conduct literary workshops, a children’s literary event, a masterclass and several other initiatives throughout 2023 extending into early 2024. Held in various parts of the country, this program will facilitate access for different communities to access literary events, discuss and practice creative writing towards building a strong base for English literary creativity in Sri Lanka.
Gratiaen shortlist in the news – The Island, May 19, 2023
The shortlist announcement in the Island.
30th Gratiaen Prize shortlist announced with launch of Gratiaen Trust Young Writers Club
Published 14 hours ago on 2023/05/19
The Gratiaen Trust in association with the John Keells Foundation partnering with the Trust for the fourth successive year and with the support of the British Council as its event partner, announced the shortlist for the 30th Gratiaen Prize and launch of the Gratiaen Trust Young Writers Club on 17 May 2023. This year out of the eight longlisted writers, four have been short-listed for the next stage of the competition: Flowers Teach Me To Let Go by Isurunie Anuradha Mallawaarachchi (poetry), Keeping Time and Other Stories by Chiranthi Rajapakse (short stories), Samsara by Shirani Rajapakse (poetry) and The Wretched and the Damned by Yudhanjaya Wijeratne (novel).
This year the Gratiaen Prize marks its 30th year and an unbroken record of recognising and promoting Sri Lankan writing in English. This year the jury for the prize is chaired by Romesh Gunesekera, an internationally acclaimed writer who has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize and is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature; Sukanya Wignaraja, a psychotherapist by profession, a former editor at Oxford University Press, New Delhi, and an avid reader of literature; and Kaushalya Perera, a Senior Lecturer in English at the University of Colombo whose research interests span linguistics and literature. The composition of the panel reflects the Gratiaen Prize’s longstanding tradition of representing three perspectives: a creative writer, an informed general reader and an academic.
The H.A.I.G. Goonetileke Prize for Translation, a biannual prize for translation from either Sinhala or Tamil into English is also being awarded. The judging panel for the translation prize includes Prabha Manuratne, a Senior Lecturer at the Department of English, University of Kelaniya and a well-known film and literary critic who writes both in Sinhala and English, Dr Ponni Arasu, an activist, historian, theatre practitioner, lawyer and translator who works in Tamil, and Kaushalya Kumarasinghe, a Sri Lankan Sinhala language novelist and translator. The H.A.I.G. Goonetileke Prize for Translation has no shortlist and the winner will be announced at the main Gratiaen Prize event scheduled on the 17th of June 2023 at Westminster House, Colombo, the official residence of the British High Commissioner in Sri Lanka.
Neloufer de Mel, Chairperson of the Gratiaen Trust, said, “These Prizes in this milestone year are very special to the Trust. They mark 30 years of concerted, voluntary effort to enhance and support English creative writing in Sri Lanka. A year when Shehan Karunatilleke won the Booker Prize 30 years after Michael Ondaatje, marks a time in which Sri Lankan literature in English is increasingly gaining traction on the world literary map. To continue supporting these writers, the Trust has expanded its work with Masterclasses and workshops, and we thank all our sponsors, particularly our principal sponsor John Keells Foundation, for enabling us to hold these events”. This partnership falls within John Keells Foundation’s (JKF) focus area of Arts and Culture aimed at nurturing the livelihoods of artists, enhancing skills and opportunities and showcasing Sri Lankan talent towards safeguarding and promoting Sri Lankan arts and culture under its overall vision of “Empowering the Nation for Tomorrow”. In addition to JKF, the Trust also gratefully acknowledges the support of the Wijeya Group of newspapers and the Marga Institute, which is its Secretariat.
As its latest initiative, The Trust has introduced the “Gratiaen Young Writers Club” to promote and provide a platform for “next generation” writers to emerge and build a peer group network. This an exciting new initiative to bring together young people who share a passion for writing. The club seeks to create a community of young writers who can support, help and inspire each other to achieve literary distinction. The Club will provide a platform for writers from diverse backgrounds to meet, collaborate, share their work, receive feedback, and explore writing in various genres and styles of creative writing.
Marking the thirtieth year of collaboration with the Trust, the British Council, Sri Lanka hosted the shortlist event as it has done from the very beginning of the Gratiaen Prize. The Trust has also embarked on an exciting program in collaboration with the British Council to bring down writers from the UK to conduct literary workshops, a children’s literary event, a masterclass and several other initiatives throughout 2023 extending into early 2024. Held in various parts of the country, this program will facilitate access for different communities to access literary events, discuss and practice creative writing towards building a strong base for English literary creativity in Sri Lanka.
Gratiaen Shortlist in the news – Ada Derana May 18, 2023
Ada Derana Biz English had this about the shortlist.
The 30th Gratiaen Prize shortlist was announced with the launch of the Gratiaen Trust Young Writers Club
May, 18, 2023
The Gratiaen Trust in association with the John Keells Foundation partnering with the Trust for the fourth successive year and with the support of the British Council as its event partner, announced the shortlist for the 30th Gratiaen Prize and launch of the Gratiaen Trust Young Writers Club on 17 May 2023. This year out of the eight longlisted writers, four have been short-listed for the next stage of the competition: Flowers Teach Me To Let Go by Isurunie Anuradha Mallawaarachchi (poetry), Keeping Time and Other Stories by Chiranthi Rajapakse (short stories), Samsara by Shirani Rajapakse (poetry) and The Wretched and the Damned by Yudhanjaya Wijeratne (novel).
This year the Gratiaen Prize marks its 30th year and an unbroken record of recognising and promoting Sri Lankan writing in English. This year the jury for the prize is chaired by Romesh Gunesekera, an internationally acclaimed writer who has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize and is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature; Sukanya Wignaraja, a psychotherapist by profession, a former editor at Oxford University Press, New Delhi, and an avid reader of literature; and Kaushalya Perera, a Senior Lecturer in English at the University of Colombo whose research interests span linguistics and literature. The composition of the panel reflects the Gratiaen Prize’s longstanding tradition of representing three perspectives: a creative writer, an informed general reader and an academic.
Neloufer de Mel, Chairperson of the Gratiaen Trust, said, “These Prizes in this milestone year are very special to the Trust. They mark 30 years of concerted, voluntary effort to enhance and support English creative writing in Sri Lanka. A year when Shehan Karunatilleke won the Booker Prize 30 years after Michael Ondaatje, marks a time in which Sri Lankan literature in English is increasingly gaining traction on the world literary map. To continue supporting these writers, the Trust has expanded its work with Masterclasses and workshops, and we thank all our sponsors, particularly our principal sponsor John Keells Foundation, for enabling us to hold these events”. This partnership falls within John Keells Foundation’s (JKF) focus area of Arts and Culture aimed at nurturing the livelihoods of artists, enhancing skills and opportunities and showcasing Sri Lankan talent towards safeguarding and promoting Sri Lankan arts and culture under its overall vision of “Empowering the Nation for Tomorrow”. In addition to JKF, the Trust also gratefully acknowledges the support of the Wijeya Group of newspapers and the Marga Institute, which is its Secretariat.
As its latest initiative, The Trust has introduced the “Gratiaen Young Writers Club” to promote and provide a platform for “next generation” writers to emerge and build a peer group network. This an exciting new initiative to bring together young people who share a passion for writing. The club seeks to create a community of young writers who can support, help and inspire each other to achieve literary distinction. The Club will provide a platform for writers from diverse backgrounds to meet, collaborate, share their work, receive feedback, and explore writing in various genres and styles of creative writing.Marking the thirtieth year of collaboration with the Trust, the British Council, Sri Lanka hosted the shortlist event as it has done from the very beginning of the Gratiaen Prize. The Trust has also embarked on an exciting program in collaboration with the British Council to bring down writers from the UK to conduct literary workshops, a children’s literary event, a masterclass and several other initiatives throughout 2023 extending into early 2024. Held in various parts of the country, this program will facilitate access for different communities to access literary events, discuss and practice creative writing towards building a strong base for English literary creativity in Sri Lanka’
Shortlisted – Gratiaen Prize 2022
Samsara is shortlisted for the 30th Gratiaen Prize.
Here’s the announcement on FB. The winner will be announced in June.
Out of Sri Lanka – a panel discussion
Infinite Remembering: Poetry beyond love and war will feature “Out of Sri Lanka”, an anthology of Sri Lankan poetry in English, or translated from Tamil and Sinhala. I’ve two poems in here, my own plus a translation of Vipuli’s poem. The speakers are Shash Trevett, Vidyan Ravinthiran and Neil Astley. It’s on June 8th via zoom and is part of the York Festival of Ideas. You need to register to join.
Earth Song as a video poem
What a lovely memory. “Earth Song”, a poem I read at the 32nd Medellin International Poetry Festival has been turned into a beautiful video.It’s on youtube.
Madness – An Anthology of world Poetry
Honored to be one of the 297 poets from 101 countries/territories around the world to have work included in this anthology. The publisher is RedPanda Books, Nepal.
Long – listed – Gratiaen Prize 2022
Samsara is long-listed for the 30th Gratiaen Prize 2022.
Kavya Kishor – April 3, 2023
Four poems from Samsara were published in Kavya Kishor on April 3, 2023. You can check them out at the site or read below.
Prophesy
.
Many years later
when the sun rose and set
in the sky over and over so many times
that you forgot to count, painting it a myriad shades
of orange, red and gold, he told you
it was doomed to fail.
The signs were there for all to see.
Except you, as you breezed
through life with a smile as wide as a
silly clown stretched across lips.
Your cup was spilling over, a waterfall flowing
in a tropical monsoon.
Happiness swirled
engulfing you in an intricately embroidered
pink pashmina.
.
You didn’t notice dark storm clouds gather
at the back of his eyes
like soldiers camouflaged in the jungles in some
faraway place.
Lines furrowed into his brow
deepened
like the darkness outside on a
moonless night.
.
It all started the day the gecko
chirped in distress.
Slithering down the wall, a little yellow brushstroke
on red brick, it called out loud, trying to say
something as you turned to leave.
One last look
at your old home as you prepared to start
a new life with him in
another place.
But the gecko sensed something
you didn’t. Maybe it was trying to
warn you of what was to come,
the deceit and lies he threw at you
like scraps of old newspaper into the trash.
You ignored his call, didn’t care about
the urgency
in his voice, the insistent warning
to you, while
he paused to listen and note, but didn’t say
a word to you then.
.
He knew it was going to be better for him.
The astrologer predicted
your stars would outshine his.
You’d bring him fame,
he claimed, so what did it matter that you’d have
to put up with all the rest?
It wasn’t your place to complain,
a woman should know
her worth, keep quiet and bow down to
her man’s wishes, or so he said.
.
Now you sit in this dark room
back in your old home with the curtains
firmly drawn, a no entry sign to the world
pinned to the door and wonder why it turned
so wrong, but the gecko on the wall looks away
in disinterest.
Old and frail he has tired of trying
to make himself heard to no one that
cares to listen,
like an oracle everyone consults
but doesn’t bother to follow.
.
.
Musing
.
Gazing out of the wide window
my eyes stare at unseen birds singing on
croton branches near
the compound wall.
.
But I see things
that aren’t there.
.
My mind’s a whirlpool churning
through horizons yet undiscovered.
Bills to pay, the shopping list that never ends,
repairs to the house.
But money is scarce.
I search through passageways of my mind
for answers,
how to solve the problems,
knocking on doors locked for the weekend,
dusty no-entry signs rudely keep me out of others.
.
I lift my eyes to the goings on in the garden;
the noisy chatter, yet
my eyes see through this all to what hides
behind, inside spaces no one can see.
.
.
On the Shelf
.
Time costs too much these days.
It costs as much as the gas to cook
the family food for an entire week.
People would rather spend on gas than on
time for the likes of those left behind.
Others like you and me
who wait alone in our old homes for someone to
come over, for a word, a smile,
an acknowledgement that we
still exist.
Still matter. But no one has
a moment to spare.
No one can no longer afford the time for
others in need.
Like us.
Their desires are far greater
and our needs cost too much.
So they prefer not to spend it on
nonessential items.
.
We have become expensive commodities
in a world gone mad
for everything money can buy.
And there will always be more things on the shelf.
We too huddle on the shelf and wait, but
time is not for us.
.
Where has the time gone?
Where have the cares moved?
It rests hidden
beneath the piles of slush that seeped
in with the men who came in to rule.
They ruled our time, took it for
themselves with promises of hope
no longer available.
No longer theirs to give.
And we swallowed it all
and continued to swallow until
there was nothing left.
.
Then we gulped down time and the cares for
others on the shelf.
.
.
Long Distance
.
You control the
conversation, an invisible
remote button pressed
when it pleases you,
expect me to dance to
your tune, but the music is a
broken record and my
feet don’t step up.
I feel out of place in this strange world,
tripping over myself, a burnt out star
plummeting,
but there’s no one to
catch me with arms
open wide.
You have moved away.
The phone has gone dead on me
again. The music never
really started.
I waited three months to
learn the steps
passing the time dressing for the part.
The record was never repaired.
It skipped so frequently.
And now the room is silent,
the melody doesn’t play
anymore, the echoes on walls have
faded like flaking paint
falling off while you are practicing your
song for a performance in
another place.
International Times – April 1, 2023
Omnipresence was published in International Times. Read it below or check it out at the site here.
Omnipresence
Politics rule our lives.
It’s in the food we eat, the water we drink.
Pesticides and genetically modified crops
jostle for control of fertile lands and the potential
to affect our bodies like lawmakers in
corridors of power.
Hormone injected animals wait their time
inside cooped up enclosures similar to prisoners
in far flung deserts – Abu Ghraib, Evin – except no one
hears cries in chicken coops. Too drugged to know
even when the butcher comes in and slits their throats.
Gods’ words whispered when he feels like it.
Human rights are political and has nothing to do
with rights. Not anymore.
People killed by drones – that’s alright. Collateral.
They got in the way. But terrorists killed to end the horror
in another country, no no, their rights were violated.
People rush in to protect the perpetrators.
The decision to decide is politically ignited.
Its politics to be dumb and seek
weapons of mass destruction in places
most unlikely yet the oil makes it all worthwhile.
Testing grounds for new missiles.
Arms dealers make billions while countries
are torn apart and lives left to rot.
People die like stray dogs.
Millions displaced all over the place.
Death on the high seas trying to get to safety,
only to find on reaching it was all a myth.
That’s politics.
Our beliefs and clothes are political.
Religious decrees to cover up in shrouds
lest someone sees and gets tempted to rape.
Such weak minds have men, but
women are to blame
for everything and more
except when we are
legitimately raped,
as some ‘wise’ man once commented, then
political correctness is thrown out the door.
Our speech patterns and language are informed
by politics. Say the right thing and we are in.
Maybe a picture in the papers smiling with
the right crowd.
Say the wrong thing and the cops will be
after us. More pictures in the papers.
Snarling men in uniform beating, kicking
dragging innocent us away to somewhere else,
someplace safe until we are deemed
socially fit to return. If there’s
anything left to be returned.
Vaccine mandates forced on the public.
Decision makers turn away as the dead pile up,
pile up, pile up.
Not their problem not their lives.
Experiments in a deadly game played by a few
with change to spare. Who cares anyway?
They were just getting in the way.
They didn’t matter. They were
nothing. More could be churned out in labs
if required.
Mothers reduced to helplessness as rights groups
encourage, goad, applaud
stuffing young bodies with puberty blockers. Deny
their birth gender. Question the safety or oppose and get
cancelled. Feeble voices drowned by
screeching mobs. Counselling? Not required, except
to get our heads examined for
refusing to let our son our daughter transition
to the preferred gender of the moment.
Calls for women only spaces repudiated by the noise of a
strange new generation that doesn’t allow for questioning.
No discussions, no explanations. Theirs
the right to choose while women’s rights
crushed, cancelled. We watch helpless as men who
didn’t amount to anything as men are lauded as winners
in women’s sports, given a free ticket to exploit,
harass, humiliate and strip us of all that we are. But who cares.
That’s the way the world turns.
Women’s liberation no longer relevant. Shoved into shadows
as men demand changes. Our body’s language denied,
words erased. No referendum to ask
half the worlds’ population if
they were in agreement with the alterations.
No discussions no talks.
Just enforcement or be called out for racism or fancy
new phrases used to silence. Minorities rule.
Banks collapse, crash, crumble
falling like dominos while those in power
watch it happen and pretend to be concerned.
Politics rule the courthouses,
the whore houses and the houses of Gods.
All of them.
Is there anything left?
The world spins on the wishes of a few
politically stable, economically powerful
consolidating their rights
over lives of the multitude who,
stupid and brainwashed, believe the political lies.
Our friends are political beings,
our names partisan tags.
We are discussed in political circles
on who we are related to and rejected if there’s
no connection to power and authority
to bank on.
Yes, marriage is political.
Lands, property divided, families united by the same.
Peaceful protests have a political reason.
There’s politics in everything we do
including the color of our skin, the shape of our face,
our bodies. Lighten with skin whitening creams
inject poisons erase lines, slice, dice and reconstruct.
Enhance, sculpt create something else.
It doesn’t matter that we look like
someone else, a paler version of what we could be.
It might get us a good husband, a respectable job, win
an election, or better, millions of followers on social media.
Dying is a political act.
It may not be a cause we like yet who cares
for the herd.
Our brains are told it’s good
to die for a cause. Any cause.
Someone else has to live so we bite the dust
and hope they appreciate as the bullets
tear up our flesh letting the earth drink us in, drink us in
drink us in.
Forcing ones’ way on another, all political until
we are strangled by it all and the time to vote approaches.
But destroying a vote by refusing to elect
anyone is also a political act so few
choose to exercise.
Shirani Rajapakse
Author bio
Shirani Rajapakse writes poetry and short stories. She’s the author of six books including Chant of a Million Women winner 2018 Kindle Book Awards, USA as well as Gods, Nukes and a whole lot of Nonsense and I Exist. Therefore I Am, 2022 and 2019 State Literary Award winners, Sri Lanka. The latter was also shortlisted for the 2019 Rubery Book Awards, UK. Rajapakse’s work has won and been placed in other competitions. Her work appears in many journals and anthologies.
shiranirajapakse.wordpress.com
http://www.facebook.com/shiranirajapakseauthor
twitter.com/shiraniraj
goodreads.com/shiranirajapakse
amazon.com/author/shiranirajapakse
Writing in a Woman’s Voice – March 11, 2023
“In a Room Up in the Sky”, another poem from Samsara is featured today in Writing in a Woman’s Voice.
Writing In A Woman’s Voice
Saturday, 11 March 2023
In a Room Up in the Sky
by Shirani Rajapakse
A plane flew into her face.
It happened many years ago,
but she still remembers
like it was last week. The plane
rose in the air
and took a turn towards
the building she was in. Then it dived in.
She was drinking her coffee
and waiting for the computer to start,
when she heard a noise of a bee
buzzing at her window. Except there could be
no bees near her window.
It was too high for any bees to fly.
But she looked up anyway.
And it was then she saw
the plane humming like a billion bees
swarm towards her window.
Then it thundered in
people and all. Her coffee mug
crashed to the ground and shattered
into a thousand and one little pieces.
And that’s all she recollects.
* * * * *
“In a Room Up in the Sky” is from Shirani Rajapakse’s new collection Samsara (2022), https://www.amazon.com/Samsara-Shirani-Rajapakse/dp/6249972005/ref=sr_1_1?crid=7LBJVOPCGODS&keywords=shirani+rajapakse&qid=1677215221&sprefix=shirani+rajapakse%2Caps%2C233&sr=8-1
Shirani Rajapakse writes poetry and short stories. She’s the author of six books including Chant of a Million Women, winner 2018 Kindle Book Awards, USA as well as Gods, Nukes and a whole lot of Nonsense and I Exist. Therefore I Am, 2022 and 2019 State Literary Award winners, Sri Lanka. The latter was also shortlisted for the 2019 Rubery Book Awards, UK. Rajapakse’s work has won and been placed in other competitions including being highly commended for the 2022 erbacce-prize for poetry, UK. Her work appears in many journals and anthologies.
shiranirajapakse.wordpress.com
amazon.com/Shirani-Rajapakse/e/B00IZQRAOA/
Cover of the Month -AllAuthor – March 10, 2023
Samsara has made it to the second round in AllAuthor’s Cover of the Month contest. The image was by me and the cover was designed by Hayley Faye. Thanks to everyone that voted for it. Check it out below and vote for it.
Rank: #50
Samsara
Author: Shirani Rajapakse FollowGenre: PoetryArtist: Hayley FayePhotographer: Shirani RajapakseBuy Now: Amazon 28 Vote
Writing in a Woman’s Voice – March 10, 2023
“After Midnight” a poem from Samsara is featured in Writing in a Woman’s Voice. You can also read the poem below.
Writing In A Woman’s Voice
Friday, 10 March 2023
After Midnight
by Shirani Rajapakse
Sometimes
a hot cup of coffee in
the middle of the night does wonders for a
restless mind wandering the corridors
of time, fluttering here
and there like a moth
trapped in a room, knocking against doors
locked up for the night, trying to wake
up the sleeping snug in their
dreams, yelling ‘let me out! let me out!’
A cup of coffee, strong, hot and sweet,
just as I like it, can provide strength
in a lonesome night, silent
except for
strange sounds like prehistoric creatures
calling from the trees outside
hidden from view,
never showing faces.
The dog wakes up as she always does
at the slightest sound from
the kitchen.
She will not lift a paw
or give ear for noises anywhere else.
A thief could walk in and take
away the whole house for all she cared,
but a discreet thud in the kitchen;
opening a cupboard, picking up a cup,
and she’d drag herself out of her dreams
to rush in and flop down at
her usual place against the cupboard.
Pushing away the sleep from her eyes
she’d stare up with a
look that says,
“give me something from
what you are having,
whatever it is.”
But alas,
coffee is taboo
for her although she loves
the taste, expects a sip
in the mornings, waits until I finish
let her sniff the cup
try to stick her tongue in
to taste the residue clinging to the sides.
She looks up and sulks as
I sip knowing she
will not get her way here.
Not tonight as I savor my coffee and listen to
the silence of the dark outside.
No rains, no leftover
afternoon heat, the creatures in the trees
now silent, gone to sleep. The only
sound the soft breath of my dog
as she sighs softly to herself
dreaming of things she cannot have.
* * * * *
“After Midnight” is from Shirani Rajapakse’s new collection Samsara (2022), https://www.amazon.com/Samsara-Shirani-Rajapakse/dp/6249972005/ref=sr_1_1?crid=7LBJVOPCGODS&keywords=shirani+rajapakse&qid=1677215221&sprefix=shirani+rajapakse%2Caps%2C233&sr=8-1
Shirani Rajapakse writes poetry and short stories. She’s the author of six books including Chant of a Million Women, winner 2018 Kindle Book Awards, USA as well as Gods, Nukes and a whole lot of Nonsense and I Exist. Therefore I Am, 2022 and 2019 State Literary Award winners, Sri Lanka. The latter was also shortlisted for the 2019 Rubery Book Awards, UK. Rajapakse’s work has won and been placed in other competitions including being highly commended for the 2022 erbacce-prize for poetry, UK. Her work appears in many journals and anthologies.
shiranirajapakse.wordpress.com
amazon.com/Shirani-Rajapakse/e/B00IZQRAOA/
Annette Spratte – March 4, 2023
Annette Spratte has posted the review on her site. This review was previously posted on Goodreads.
Samsara by Shirani Rajapakse
Verfasst vonAnnetteVeröffentlicht inBook Review, English, Poetry
Schlagwörter:bookreview, Poetry
There are journeys we make and paths we tread on in this cycle of birth and death, rebirth and death until that final moment when we reach nibbana. We meet and pass many beings on their own journeys. We gain much experience as we sojourn along the way sharing joy, sorrow, exhilaration and contemplation that all become part of wandering from one single moment to the next, step by little step, but always moving ahead. This poetry collection encapsulates a few tiny moments in time in that long and winding expedition of Samsara.
One might think that individuals from two cultures and religions as contrary as Christianity and Hinduism have nothing in common. It is a mindset of confrontation I do not share. We are all human, and in our human souls all long for the same things, even if we choose different paths to obtain them. This is why I gladly accepted Shirani’s humble request to read and review her new poetry collection Samsara. After having read her short story collection I exist, therefore I am, which greatly impressed me with its depth, I expected to be touched by the poems. I was not disappointed.
These poems are relatable, transforming everyday observances into philosophical depth, touching in a quiet way that is at once beautiful in its language and challenging in its meaning. Some poems made me laugh out loud, some brought me close to tears, others left me with a new thought or an echo of yearning. There were few I could not relate to at all.
Shirani has a gift of setting ordinary things into a new context that opens up a whole new perspective. I greatly enjoyed that. It is a book that should not be read in one sitting. Each poem needs room to reverberate in the mind, time to savor it like a glass of good wine.
From the description I had expected a lot more reference to religious teachings, but that is not the case. If I hadn’t known the author’s background, I would not have guessed it. Many of the thoughts expressed in the poems are familiar to me, and yet they carry a touch of the exotic to my European mind. It’s like traveling to a distant country (Sri Lanka, in this case), feeling the heat, smelling exotic flowers and being overwhelmed by the monsoon rains. It all comes alive in a few well placed words and that is truly magical. If you enjoy poetry, this book is a jem.
Goodreads review by Neela – February 27, 2023
Thanks to Neela for this review of Samsara published on Goodreads. You can also read it below.
Samsara
Samsara
by
Shirani Rajapakse(Goodreads Author)
Neela‘s review
Feb 27, 2023
In Sanskrit the word ‘Samsara’ means ‘world’, it also represents the concept of the cycle of death and rebirth, a fundamental belief of Hinduism. In Buddhism, ‘Samsara’ means ‘suffering’. Like these meanings, Shirani Rajapakse’s poems also give us some insights about our life and suffering in this world.
Shirani seems to be interested in exploring the human experience, particularly in relation to the passage of time and the transience of life. Her poetry is introspective and sensory with a focus on evoking emotions and encouraging readers to question their own perceptions of reality. She might be grappling with personal issues related to mortality and the meaning of life, using poetry is her way to process and explore theses ideas.
Few of her poems reflect on the fleeting nature of life and the inevitability of death. She used several metaphor and powerful symbol to describe the impermanence of our existence. The poem ‘An Old Friend’ ends with a realization that, just like the shriveled Sepalika tree, our bodies will one day be thrown away and forgotten. Shirani’s poems also delves into the nature of consciousness, and that our sense of self is constantly changing and evolving. Her tone in the poems is introspective and contemplative.
Shirani’s poem not only tells about human suffering but also the pain and fear experienced by other creatures. The message here is a call for greater empathy and a reminder of the interconnectedness of all living beings. Some of the poems also touches the themes of karma and our karmic fate. I must say, ‘Samsara’ is a collection of reflective and thought provoking poems; it encourages us to think more deeply about the world around us. Her poetry portrays the deep sorrow of losing a loved one and the lingering hope of finding them again, even in the face of overwhelming odds. In ‘Samsara’ suffering and happiness lives together, nothing is permanent or forever.
Definitely recommending this book !
Goodreads Review by Annette Spratte – February 18, 2023
A review of Samsara by Annette Spratte on Goodreads. You can also read it below.
Annette Spratte’s Reviews Samsara
Samsara
by
Shirani Rajapakse(Goodreads Author)
Annette Spratte‘s review
Feb 18, 2023
bookshelves: touching
These poems are relatable, transforming everyday observances into philosophical depth, touching in a quiet way that is at once beautiful in its language and challenging in its meaning. Some poems made me laugh out loud, some brought me close to tears, others left me with a new thought or an echo of yearning. There were few I could not relate to at all.
Shirani has a gift of setting ordinary things into a new context that opens up a whole new perspective. I greatly enjoyed that. It is a book that should not be read in one sitting. Each poem needs room to reverberate in the mind, time to savor it like a glass of good wine.
From the description I had expected a lot more reference to religious teachings, but that is not the case. If I hadn’t known the author’s background, I would not have guessed it. Many of the thoughts expressed in the poems are familiar to me, and yet they carry a touch of the exotic to my European mind. It’s like traveling to a distant country (Sri Lanka, in this case), feeling the heat, smelling exotic flowers and being overwhelmed by the monsoon rains. It all comes alive in a few well placed words and that is truly magical. If you enjoy poetry, this book is a jem.
Every Day Poems @ Every Writer’s Resource – Feb. 4, 2023
“Gazing at the Rain from My Window” a poem from Samsara was published in Every Day Poems at Every Writer’s Resource. Thanks Richard. You can also read it below.
Gazing at the Rain from My Window
by Shirani Rajapakse
Words gush out of my brain
like the rain these past few days.
I’m tired of both,
the words and the rain.
I can’t control either.
The words I can’t still.
They scream to get out and will stop
only when dropped
in black and white.
I’m tired of scribbling day in day out.
They don’t let me sleep, but call in my dreams
to write them down.
Who are these
words that want to be heard?
Are they remnants of past lives?
Why does the
rain fall so hard so long?
Basso Profundo – February 3, 2023
This review of Samsara is by Luke Sherwood and is at Basso Profundo. You can also read it below.
“Samsara”by Shirani Rajapakse
In Samsara, her new volume of poetry, Shirani Rajapakse demonstrates intriguing new perspectives with a deft and heartfelt diction. The poet generally chooses to illustrate a finite set of themes, and this allows her to deal with them a number of times, in a stunning variety of ways. For instance, she brings us a much wider range of visual images than in prior work, and they’re a delight: rich, vivid, and sometimes quirky. Another tool this award-winning poet uses: she anthropomorphizes certain ordinary natural phenomena, like the waving branches of a tree, the dancing of its leaves, or the simple activities of animals.
But the salient feature in Rajapakse’s poetry remains her magisterial stance regarding her themes. She treats reincarnation, love, Buddhist and Hindu faith, human relationships and spirituality, and the nature of reality, with a sure hand, and delivers her usual unflinching judgments on all. This is a very accomplished work, mature in its perspectives and starkly clear in its verdicts.
Besides these attractions, this volume has what struck me as a thesis statement. This is quite unusual in her work. In “Musing,” she writes, “I lift my eyes to the goings on in the garden; / the noisy chatter, yet / my eyes see through this all to what hides / behind, inside spaces no one can see.” This deep peering into the known but unseen, into the hidden sense of things, recurs throughout the poems, and always illuminates a facet of a larger idea.
These pieces are a delight for those who trust contemplation and deep thinking, and in the efficacies of the written word. I liked these offerings quite a bit, as you can tell.
The title of the collection is a Sanskrit word meaning the suffering-laden cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, wherein the Earthly plane is seen as illusory, appealing overmuch to the senses, and encouraging the empty pursuit of things. The poems explore these facets a number of times; in some pieces she decries the emptiness of life, but sometimes she arrives at an elegant moment where the deeper truths are hinted at, or yearned for. And there is quite a bit here about loneliness, about humans who have become separated and now must adjust to life by themselves. Samsara indeed.
I honor Shirani—for her gift with felicitous phrases and her clear insight into the spiritual realm, among all the other features of her growing oeuvre. Among her poetical work, this is clearly her finest to date.
MasticadoresUSA – February 3, 2023
Check out this review of Samsara by Barbara Leonhard, Editor of MasticadoresUSA. Or you can read it below.
Book Review, MasticadoresUSA, poem, poetry
“A Review of ‘Samsara’, a Poetry Collection by Shirani Rajapakse” by Barbara Leonhard
Publicado por Meelosmom el
To read “Samsara” by Shirani Rajapakse is to embark on a spiritual journey of past and present life reflections on suffering, decay, and death in vivid and stirring metaphors. Because this book is written in a strong feminine voice, I couldn’t help but relate to the poetess’ emotional states, which are explored with imagery from nature as well as congested modern times. The spirit is a house of familiar attachments and a stage for the drama of daily toil and abuse, illness, death, isolation, and loneliness that the poems reveal. The spirit comes tapping on the window as “a little leaf” (“It Happened while You were Sleeping”), calling all of us to venture into the rain to seek life’s meaning. We feel the nostalgia for the innocent lives we once had before house upon house and road upon road, and technology clogged our existence and blinded us from insight, the “white lotus blooming in a lake” (“Mind over Matter”). Along with the speaker, the reader feels at a loss of how to take on this journey and is overwhelmed with choices and mysteries (“Gazing at the Rain from My Window”), “Who are these words that want to be heard? p Are they remnants of past lives?” The poems describe the human condition, the absurdity of safety in the houses (loves) we build. Despite the gecko’s warning, we find ourselves retreating from the one we think loves us (“Prophesy”)… “………………in this dark room back in your old home with the curtains firmly drawn, a no entry sign to the world pinned to the door and wonder why it turned so wrong….” Moreover, the plight of women comes through in many poems. Their roles as lovers, caregivers, and artists debased in the shadow of the patriarchy (“Prophesy”)… “The astrologer predicted your stars would outshine his. You’d bring him fame, he claimed, so what did it matter that you’d have to put up with all the rest? It wasn’t your place to complain, a woman should know her worth, keep quiet and bow down to her man’s wishes, or so he said.” This collection of poetry can be appreciated on many levels. Rajapakse depicts a woman who is overwhelmed by modern life while facing the loss of a loved one she is conversing with. The poems about the decline of her partner or lover are raw, revealing not just the decay of a life but the decay of love itself. “Words trickle out of lips like Birds flying across the setting sun to get lost in the trees beyond. Half sentences is all you give me for now. The mist descends behind us, cruel reminder of cold nights, loneliness and things that cannot be said.” (“When there is Nothing Left to Say”) Love is “An Old Friend”, whose death is likened to the Sepalika tree that “…succumbed many years ago. The trunk caved in. Devoured by termites it couldn’t hold on…. ….It resembled your cancer ravaged body yearning to live.” As she scans her past, reflecting on the good days and finds herself overwhelmed by how things have turned out, she reflects on the karmic forces at play in the cycle of death and rebirth. Love becomes an angry man in the violent throes of death; he pleads to live… “while consciousness breaks free and scurries out of his throat to start the cycle all over again.” In “The Karmic Trial”, the poetess sees us as mindless, forgetful of past lessons learned, “turning into/ puppets of Prophets” despite having “a brain/ and the powers to reason”. “We turn around in circles like wheels of a car or the moving blades of a fan as they spin In the same place.” We are caught in a cycle of “…blind faith that doesn’t/ allow for inquiring or reasoning” (‘Fundamentalists”). God abandons us as we are “no longer/ any use”. We are left without God when we need him the most. Between the lines, the poetess offers remedies, such as sitting with the breath and meditating, watching “the world go by and / remain unaffected” by the ego, who makes the world go crazy with materialistic want and self-indulgence (“The I in Everything I Do”) I highly recommend this collection of verses that invite the spirit into the mundane and explore the human condition, the samsara, or the continuous karmic cycle of life, death, and rebirth. Shirani Rajapakse explores our “suffering, decay, and death” and attachments to the material world that leave us hollow and bereaved. Although alienated, we can travel together through samsara. In “Samsara II”, the poetess says, “I’m bored with this life. Can I go home? But where is home? How do I get there? Which bus do I take? Do I fly instead, or can the road take me there through its twists and turns? And if I fall along the way will you lift me up? Give me new shoes and food to eat and a place to stay. Will you come with me, or do you stay behind? Alone. I could do with some company on my way there. To nowhere. To where I don’t know. For I cannot read a map and you can. It’s as simple as that.” Finally, many of these poems are “highly commended” (erbacce-prize for poetry, 2022), and I am not surprised. You will not regret joining Shirani Rajapakse on her “Samsura”. Barbara Leonhard
Shirani Rajapakse writes poetry and short stories. She’s the author of five books including Gods, Nukes and a whole lot of Nonsense – winner of the 2022 State Literary Awards, Sri Lanka; I Exist. Therefore I Am – winner of the 2019 State Literary Awards, Sri Lanka, shortlisted for the 2019 Rubery Book Awards, UK; and Chant of a Million Women – winner of the 2018 Kindle Book Awards, USA, Official Selection in the 2018 New Apple Summer eBook Awards for Excellence in Independent Publishing, USA & Honorable Mention in the 2018Reader’s Favorite Awards, USA. Rajapakse’s work was highly commended for the 2022 erbacce-prize for poetry, UK. She also won the 2013 Cha “Betrayal” Poetry Contest, Hong Kong and was a finalist in the 2013 Anna Davidson Rosenberg Poetry Awards, USA. Rajapakse’s work appears in many journals and anthologies around the world. She read for a BA in English Literature from the University of Kelaniya, Sri Lanka and has a MA in International Relations from JNU, India. You can follow Shirani on her WordPress blog. You can order Samsara on Amazon.
Featured Image: book cover Samsara
Editor: Barbara Harris Leonhard
Every Writers Resource – Jan. 17, 2023
Samsara was the featured Indy book on Every Writers Resource. Check it out below.
Books
Samsara by Shirani Rajapakse
17 January, 2023 by Every Writer Leave a Comment
Samsara
Author
Shirani Rajapakse
Author Bio
Shirani Rajapakse writes poetry and short stories. She’s the author of five books including “Gods, Nukes and a whole lot of Nonsense” – winner of the 2022 State Literary Awards, Sri Lanka; “I Exist. Therefore I Am” – winner of the 2019 State Literary Awards, Sri Lanka, shortlisted for the 2019 Rubery Book Awards, UK; and “Chant of a Million Women” – winner of the 2018 Kindle Book Awards, USA, Official Selection in the 2018 New Apple Summer eBook Awards for Excellence in Independent Publishing, USA & Honorable Mention in the 2018 Reader’s Favorite Awards, USA. Rajapakse’s work was highly commended for the 2022 erbacce-prize for poetry, UK. She also won the 2013 Cha “Betrayal” Poetry Contest, Hong Kong and was a finalist in the 2013 Anna Davidson Rosenberg Poetry Awards, USA. Rajapakse’s work appears in many journals and anthologies including “Dove Tales”, “Buddhist Poetry”, “Litro”, “Berfrois”, “Flash Fiction International”, “Voices Israel”, “About Place”, “Mascara”, “Counterpunch”, “Silver Birch”, “International Times”, “New Verse News”, “Cultural Weekly”, “The Write-In”, “Harbinger Asylum” and more. Her work has been translated into Farsi, Spanish, French and Chinese.
Description
There are journeys we make and paths we tread on in this cycle of birth and death, rebirth and death until that final moment when we reach nibbana. We meet and pass many beings on their own journeys. We gain much experience as we sojourn along the way sharing joy, sorrow, exhilaration and contemplation that all become part of wandering from one single moment to the next, step by little step, but always moving ahead. This poetry collection encapsulates a few tiny moments in time in that long and winding expedition of Samsara.
Book excerpt
The Journey You tell me my sentences are too long with no stops for breath. But I tell you that it is so. The twists and turns of the road winding through open valleys that lead straight into the orange red sun beckoning from the horizon, lighting up the low shrubs on either side golden, or ascending hills stretching their necks to nuzzle against clouds, is long and far. I like traveling down the road with no stops, only a few pauses to define the way. So please let me enjoy the journey and my long sentences. I’ve a right to travel this road or any path I desire. Just as you have the right to stop along the way, check into a room, enjoy a leisurely swim. We are two beings with as much right to be here. I with my long sentences; you with your pit stops.
Information
Genre Poetry
Author Website https://shiranirajapakse.wordpress.com
Best place to buy your book https://www.amazon.com/Samsara-Shirani-Rajapakse-ebook/dp/B0BNJ6DBQ6?ref_=ast_sto_dp
Filed Under: Book Listing, Poetry
Book Reviews Cafe – January 4, 2023
The first review for Samsara is out. Thanks to Swapna Peri from Book Reviews Cafe for the interesting review. I’m always surprised by the insight of readers and how they interpret my work. Swapna has also made an clever observation about the cover image.
You can also read it below.
Book Reviews, Non-Fiction, Poetry
Samsara
Posted by Swapna Peri on
| Book Title: Samsara Author: Shirani Rajpakse Published by: Shirani Rajapakse Category: Poetry Genre: Non-fiction No. of pages: 128 |
The Hook:
Life moments that speak up volumes are encapsulated in poems.
Review:
A poem has few words, but it has a big heart. Poems are not only emotional in content but powerful in their tone. They speak those things that we humans tend not to even think about.
In this book by Shirani Rajapakse, through the poems, readers will bring their own experiences and find what they want or need in each one, situation and life. The Sacrifices a woman makes, the difficulties a citizen faces, the pressure a teenager gets subjected to, the emotional quotient one builds when travelling in nostalgia, and the social extremes. Many more things people face, endure and adapt in their day-to-day life are the muses of every poem.
The book has a poem for everyone, every gender and age, every situation and incident, every feeling and notion. The book is for those readers who are comfortable with the modern form of poetry where abstractness and imagination of more important things are explained in simple words. Readers who wish to explore a different style of depicting life and its course can pick up this book. The book may not please serious poet book lovers. Though many poems are interesting to read, some feel incomplete or difficult to interpret. Certain non-English words and their meaning will be helpful if fed in the footnote. In one of the poems, the following lines made me laugh out loud at the author’s wit and, at the same time, her word skills:
But the mosquitoes they can have.
I’ve tried and tired of compassion for them
hovering like drones around my head.
Not to forget about the cover image. It is simple but profound, with the jasmine flower garland tied with the string, and every pair of flowers maintained at a certain distance is quite impressive. I can infer from the image that two flowers are the two sides or feelings or things with opposite natures bound to the same knot in the thread. Likewise, pairs of such flowers in s distance talk about the balance one need in life.
In short, reading the Samsara by Shirani Rajapakse made my mind travel across many unsaid, forgotten and nostalgic moments of life.
Manseerah مانسيرا – The Great Poetic Epic of Modern Man
Honored to be among 100 writers invited to participate in Manseerah مانسيرا- the Great Poetic Epic of Modern Man. It was started by Adel Khozam in Dubai, UAE. The journey has just began and you can read more about it on the site in the days to come. Thank you to Adel for the invitation. #poetrycommunity #poetrylovers #poetryisnotdead #poet #poetry #shiranirajapakse #srilanka #uae
Assembly of the Peoples of Eurasia
Participated via video link at the inauguration ceremony. Thanks to poet Abdukakhor Kosim for the invite.
ПОЗДРАВЛЯЕМ!
CONGRATULATIONS!
LET FRIENDSHIP FILL ALL THE WORLD!
ПУСТЬ ДРУЖБОЙ БУДЕТ ПОЛОН МИР!
Congratulations to the Assembly of the Peoples of Eurasia on the upcoming New Year 2023, and letters of thanks “For the contribution to strengthening international cultural and humanitarian cooperation and support of the Panel session “People’s Diplomacy: experience and Prospects” within the Perm Open Friendship Forum”to cultural diplomats from around the world!
Dear friends and colleagues!
Please accept our sincere congratulations on the upcoming New Year 2023! May the coming year be full of new plans, inspiration, creative ideas and good news! May your cherished dreams come true, there will be prosperity and prosperity in the house, and you and your loved ones will always be healthy!
Assembly of the Peoples of Eurasia
SEPARATELY, ON MY OWN BEHALF, I CONGRATULATE ALL COLLEAGUES ON THE UPCOMING NEW YEAR 2023 TO ALL THE AWARDEES AND EXPRESS MY GREAT GRATITUDE FOR FRIENDSHIP AND COOPERATION!
Abdukakhor Kosim,
Co-Chairman of the Literary Council of the Assembly of Peoples of Eurasia, National Coordinator of the World Poetry Movement, Honorary Advisor to the Federation of the World Society of Culture and Art (Singapore), Honorary Ambassador of the World.
http://www.eurasia-assembly.org/…/peoples-diplomacy…
You can watch the full version of the Panel session and your video greeting at the link below:
Samsara – ebook cover
This is the cover for the ebook.
Samsara
The paperback version of my poetry book Samsara was just released.
There are journeys we make and paths we tread on in this cycle of birth and death, rebirth and death until that final moment when we reach nibbana. We meet and pass many beings on their own journeys. We gain much experience as we sojourn along the way sharing joy, sorrow, exhilaration and contemplation that all become part of wandering from one single moment to the next, step by little step, but always moving ahead. This poetry collection encapsulates a few tiny moments in time in that long and winding expedition of Samsara.
Shirani Rajapakse 
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