mounement
Monuments - By Kamala Wijerathna The bus sweeps past the swinging trees And the road unwinds long and cloud The chassis creates with the load And jots to a by road. (1) The bus stops for a moment to load And I see the writing on the halt A wayside monument etched in gold. IN MEMORY OF MY SON" I get a jolt. (2) The legend goes on, on every bus Stand a new name every time but The story's old "To the hero Who fell the north erected by Father, mother and next of kin" (3) More than a dozen names penetrated my mind. But I remember the one common to all "Bandara" master of the soil Some of those who teased out paddy from this land (4) They would have ploughed this soil Gathered the harvest at reaping time Followed their fathers with the paddy in bins And sat by the hearth for the new rice Served steaming and scented by a mother's fond hands. While the Koha sang on the reabadu trees The inscriptions hug the white walls And the bus swings in and out of halts. I gaze at the unwinding miles of the road And try to make the broken images whole (6) Vague shapes rise undefined infront of me A farmer in a muddied loin cloth haunts me a housewife with billowing sleeves and string of bea Stare at me out of the unwinding road And their faces are stern with unshed tears.(7)
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