Denzil's Stories

  30th Dec 1953 Susan’s wedding day Denzil Jayasinghe 2 min read·Sep 30, 2022 1 T he beautiful bride White saree, flowers on your hair With a bouquet of water lilies Dressed in simple jewellery Y ou chose to walk to the church That was a statement of simplicity Joy to the villagers Gathered on the Kandy Road T heir daughter walking To see a beautiful woman In elegance and style You rejected travel by car To your own wedding By that simple act You honoured the village Simplicity was your elegance Y ou made your father happy You were his pride Did you miss your mother? Who could not be with you D id you feel sad? When your father gave you away? Did you smile at your husband? On your great day The wedding ceremony was held at the Catholic Church, Eldeniya Kadawatha. W hen you came to your husband’s home Taking your journals and pictures Stories from your home and village Did they remind you who you were? T oday they remind your children You had an entire life before them You gave them a p

  Mallie Denzil Jayasinghe Sep 28, 2022 13 W hen I was eight, My mother’s belly grew big, She was with child, A baby for me to behold. I wondered how, In such a little while, She could grow so round, And carry a child inside. Soon enough, A baby boy was born, I met him at the hospital, With my grandma by my side. He was so tiny, And so warm to hold, I was now a big brother, Proud to be an ayya. I loved him like no other, I told him stories and sang him songs, My one and only Mallie, My baby brother, my best friend. Subscribe to my stories  https://djayasi.medium.com/subscribe . Images and artwork belong to Denzil Jayasinghe. More poems by the author Brothers Family Kids Poetry

  Growing up before their time Unwinding untold stories Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read·Sep 27, 2022 17 1 My parents never sat me down to share stories of their growing up. They spared me the hard stories of their lost childhoods and the sacrifices they made as kids in a world much harsher than I grew up. They put themselves on the line so the next generation could have a good life. I benefit from their sacrifices, blood, tears and sweat. I want to go back in time and sit beside my mother, who had just lost her mother to mental illness. I want to know how she dared to take abuse from her sick mother. I want to know how she dealt without a mother's love at such a tender age. How she managed that large household, made of brick, without electricity, surrounded by acres of paddy fields? I want to know what she cooked for her father and siblings. I want to record how she ran the house without a mother. I want to know how she protected her younger sister. I want to sit with the teenage vers