by adiscardedplant

Newton Ranaweera


He tuned his plate of violin
to charm the handful of rice
remaining in the pot,
eagerly waiting to be served
to the first come.

Rice he had already had,
mixed with salt,
had had an unwelcome
when it reached
its rival, his belly so thin.

When the last portion of rice
left the cracked pot
to embrace his plate of violin,
tuned with his skilled fingers,
mother left the kitchen
with a sense of glory
that her paramita was done.

Image source: Pixabay



4 Comments to “Paramitha”

  1. beautiful lines! I run a more scientific kind of blog but you may want to check it out for some inspiration!

  2. Thank you very much for your great comment.

  3. Thank you so much, Venkat.

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