The bowl he used to drink "cunjee".........,
seems to looking at me......,
in the corner of the rusty, old.... rack....,
and the bottom shelf....;
It seems questioning me........,
every morning at three....,
when I wake up to make my tea......,
All alone........!

"Oh....! Lady....,
Where's my master.......,
haven't seen for long lengthy years.......,
sun rises..... and moon peeps.......,
How many rains now we've passed....,
oh..! where... where..... where.... is he.....?"
It seems asking me.........!

I know that he'll never come again.....,
for he has a better life......,
I silently run my fingers.....,
over the edge of the old bowl...,
which covers dust of years and years.....;
Yet reminds me of our indwelling past.....,
never goes out of my heart....,
I use to stand for a moment.....;
In every morn......!

Surangani Thalawitiya,
Sri Lanka.