Denzil's Stories

The Red House A simple household in Dalugama in 1965 Denzil Jayasinghe 2 min read·Mar 30 1 S tep into our neighbourhood, and you’ll see a house that’s anything but ordinary. Our house is a true marvel with its grand entranceway boasting grills and not one, not two, not three, but four doors. But that’s just the beginning of the story. Our house underwent a complete transformation three years ago, with a magnificent arch in the middle, two extra bedrooms, and a built-in kitchen. And just when we thought our house couldn’t get any more unique, my father decided to paint it red earlier this year, making it the only one of its kind in the entire neighbourhood. It’s easy to spot and gives us a sense of pride, but sometimes it’s hard to look at too. But that’s not all that makes our home stand out. My mother is a master of crafting birds out of cotton wool, and her creations are displayed all around the house in glass cages. These little white birds, chickens, baby chickens, swans, ducks, ra...

  Blended Language Fusion of my English — an experimental poem Denzil Jayasinghe Mar 28 C himing to the rhythm of blended tongues, My voice sings a melody of diverse roots, Born from countries colliding and colluding, A fusion of languages, a chorus of fruits. L ankan, Indian, Dubaian, Aussie, Each English version, a lover in my linguistic bed, Their passion blended, my voice and writing cozy, A hotchpotch of words, a symphony ahead. M other, oh how I wish you knew English well, Father, your pronunciation was distinct, I wish you could hear your grandkids and great-grandkids, A change in language, a shift that does not shrink. C himing to the rhythm of blended tongues, My voice echoes a tale of diversity, A legacy of cultures and languages young, A song of heritage, linguistic prosperity. Subscribe to my stories  https://djayasi.medium.com/subscribe . The images belong to the original owners. English Poem

  Bajar days A recall of my youth, in a short poem form of a short-lived time in Sri Lanka Denzil Jayasinghe 1 min read·Mar 28 Oh, the memories of Bajar days, When life was simple, in so many ways. My friends knew me, through and through, And I knew them, just like they knew. We’d stroll around the neighbourhood, Lost in conversation, feeling good. No worries for the time or day, Just enjoying each other, come what may. We’d celebrate our wins and fails, And we’d pick each other up, without any nails. Our headless youth was such a sight, We were just kids, everything was alright. But now we’re all grown up and busy, Our schedules filled, it makes me dizzy. We compare calendars, but it’s all the same, Eventually one of us cancels, we’re all to blame. Adulthood’s too exhausted to leave our homes, We’re too tired to call, or even roam. I miss the sense of belonging, that once was mine, When life was easier, and everything was just fine. Oh, those Bajar days, they seem so far, But the ...

Nimal Logus & Newton Hard lessons growing up Denzil Jayasinghe 9 min read · Mar 27 Chapter One — Newton The local rail station was desolate, devoid of the hustle and bustle that usually characterised it during peak hours — the school holidays had thinned out the crowds considerably, leaving only a lone figure amidst the emptiness. Denzil sat in the waiting area, his duffel bag resting at his feet, eyes scanning the pages of the novel he had pulled out of it. His mind was preoccupied with the excitement of the impending journey that would take him to the welcoming embrace of his best friend and classmate, Ajit. As he turned another page, Denzil noticed a man limping towards the sitting area. His gait was unsteady, and his clubfeet caused him to sway from side to side. The short man, who looked to be in his twenties, was dressed in a vibrant sarong with a belt and a shirt that clashed with it. The stranger settled onto a wooden seat a few feet from Denzil, who glanced up at him in ac...