Скачать или смотреть මුරුසි දූපතේ කඳුලු Tears in Exile

This poetic text recounts the solitary reflections of Ehelepola Nilame, a fallen Sri Lankan noble living out his final days in forced exile on the island of Mauritius. Stripped of his status and labeled a traitor by some, the protagonist endures a caged existence while his heart remains anchored to his occupied homeland. The narrative emphasizes his internal struggle as he grapples with the loss of the Kingdom of Kandy to foreign invaders. Rather than seeking personal liberty, he focuses his spiritual energy on a vow for national sovereignty and the removal of colonial forces. Ultimately, the work suggests that while a physical body can be imprisoned, a deep-seated love for one's country remains an unbreakable force that transcends geographic boundaries.

Ballad in Exile: Ehelepola’s Night

By Weerathunga W Nimal .
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Far from the drums of Kandy,
far from the flame-river of the Kandy Esala Perahera,
he lies beneath a foreign sky on Mauritius.
The sea there does not know his name.
It folds and unfolds like a letter never sent.
They call him traitor.
They call him rebel.
But in the salt-stung dark,
he is only Ehelepola Nilame,
a man with shackled wrists
and a homeland burning in his chest.
The night is a long corridor.
Sleep refuses to open its door.
Moonlight spills like cold milk on the prison floor,
and he turns from wall to wall,
listening to waves argue with stone.
He remembers hills braided with mist.
He remembers temple bells
breathing bronze prayers at dawn.
He remembers elephants moving like living fortresses
through torchlight and drum thunder.
Here, there is only wind.
A wind that tastes of exile.
He does not dream of comfort.
He does not whisper, “Free me.”
Instead he whispers,
“Free her.”
Free the rivers from foreign boots.
Free the forests from red-coated shadows.
Free the crown from alien hands.
Let the island rise again
like a lion shaking rain from its mane.
Anger sits beside him like a second prisoner.
It does not sleep either.
It sharpens memory.
It keeps vigil.
He sees ships on the horizon.
Sees flags unfurl like wounds in the sky.
Sees treaties signed with ink heavy as chains.
Sees the slow swallowing of a kingdom.
And still he whispers,
“Not for me.”
Not for these wrists.
Not for this body caged in coral stone.
But for the soil that shaped his bones.
The sea answers in riddles.
Waves strike. Retreat. Strike again.
Even in exile, the ocean teaches him rebellion.
A man can be banished.
A wish cannot.
A body can be locked away.
But a country inside the heart
has no prison walls.
Toward dawn, when stars thin out like fading embers,
he closes his eyes at last.
Not in surrender.
In promise.
Somewhere beyond that dark horizon,
Sri Lanka waits.
And in the sleepless chamber of his exile,
anger turns into vow,
vow turns into legend,
legend turns into the quiet seed of freedom.