Asitha I. Jayawardena
Published writing 1993-2007


‘Limericks contest’ in The Sunday Island in Sri Lanka

Advice with warning 
(The Sunday Island of 2 July 1995)

General poetry

Like your love for me 
(, 2001)

Wonderful and awful
(The Sunday Island of 9 November 1997)

Humorous poetry

The Sunday Island of 2 July 1995
Advice with warning
By Asitha Jayawardena

This entry won The Sunday Island’s weekly Limericks Contest that invited the readers to suggest, in two verses, the advice that Miss World Aishwarya Rai should give to local girls during her visit to Sri Lanka.

Early in the morning – at least at nine – get up;
Drink a barrel of water and do fifty sit-ups;
Brush the teeth and wash the face at least once a day;
Always avoid dresses that are of colour grey

Say ‘No!’ to bloody lipsticks, which give witchy looks;
Try to eat, I’m sorry, try to read many health books;
But remember: however hard you may try and try,
You cannot beat me because I’m reigning high!

General poetry, 2001
Like your love for me
By Asitha Jayawardena

They were lying on the grass
Under the starry night sky
..ninety-eight, ninety-nine, hundred
Then silence prevailed

Finished? he asked
I knew that, silly girl!
Counting stars...there's no end, he replied
And then softly whispered:
Like your love for me...

The Sunday Island of 9 November 1997
Wonderful and awful
By Asitha Jayawardena

Today, alone, in the cosy double bed,
He nervously rolls to right and left:
The clock announces that it’s midnight;
To fall asleep, still he does fight

Doing its duty is the ceiling fan:
He counts the fingers of his hands;
He desperately tries, but in vain,
To ease his mind’s enormous pain

The first night after divorcing his wife,
He finds it difficult to lead his life:
With his wife left daughter and son;
With him at home, now there’s none

Besides, doing bad is his business,
Providing him with yet another big mess;
Has met with an accident, his lorry;
And shares crisis is another worry

For hours he hasn’t slept a wink,
Making his eyes weary and pink:
Tired, he slowly walks to the window,
Opens it and feels the wind blow

From the upstairs room, he now sees
The outside world.... full of peace:
The street lamp in front of his home
Emits light in the shape of a cone

A beggar is sleeping under the lamp,
With body exposed to the air damp,
And to the pavement, dirty and coarse:
But he sleeps.... cosily of course!

The rich man’s heart begins to shake:
He thinks, ‘Though rich, I’m awake;
Money can’t buy joy, now I’m sure;
Sometimes richer than us, the poor’

60 SML-sqr-SDC10206