Poetry Slam at the American Center

The US Embassy Colombo held its Open Mic Competitive Poetry Slam for the third time on Thursday (19) at the American Center, Colombo. The event was open to all and free of entrance and the turnout, while relatively small, drew together gutsy amateur poets who performed a poem each, which were judged by a panel of audience members who either volunteered or were picked at random.

The evening’s compeer, American Center Outreach Officer Hector Gonzalez lightened the mood with his own brand of stand-up comedy which put participants at ease. The participants were judged on originality and the quality of their performance with two prizes being handed out to the ‘crowd favourite’ and the main winner picked by the panel of judges. Consolation prizes of books, calendars and free memberships to the American Center library were handed out to everyone who took part. Of the six participants, the topics ranged from nature to poverty, unemployment and youth struggles to war widows and self empowerment. The winning entry titled ‘Poor People’ was performed by Sabreena Niles and written by Nadya Perera.

Winning poem: ‘Poor People’

By: Nadya Perera

Performed by: Sabreena Niles

The other day

A four year old girl asked “what do poor people do?”

And I stayed silent.

“What do they do?” She asked

“Their best” I was tempted to say. “They do – their best”  

But that would have been too easy…for both of us… so I didn’t say anything at all.



How should I have answered you?

Just how much truth do I tell you, without stealing from you that fine balance you keep, up there in your circus mind… the way only a child can…

Then I remember something my father said once…

“Who wants a ‘balanced’ child?” he had a twinkle in his eye

“Let my daughter lose her balance… the problem today is that we have too many ‘balanced’ children growing up to be nothing more than  ‘balanced’ adults!”

“Yes,” he had said, “Let her lose her balance and know how it feels to free fall!”

Little girl…

I thought about your question many times

And I hope you ask me again.

And when you do, I will tell you…

“Poor people…

Eat

Drink

Toil

Sleep

And dream    

Just like you.

(But on bad days, they eat less and toil more.)

It is hard to dream on an empty stomach… but they dream nonetheless

And it costs them more than it does you or I

But that’s not all; poor people do much more…

They pray. – Hard.

They believe. – They must have done something wrong, when even the gods do not listen.

They allow. – Themselves to be measured, defined, researched and even empowered.

They exist. – On the wrong side of the poverty line… till the department decides it’s time to draw a new line.

They listen. – To what the experts have to say about their lives; about the reality they live every single day (but are never experts on).

They participate. – In focus group discussions and micro credit programmes, every chance they get.

They play. –Their part.

They work. – In our homes.

They abandon. – Their young.

They care. – For the children of another mother.

They lack. – Choice, information and a minimum wage.

They make. –Up the “masses”... when summoned.

They bathe. – When they can.

They smell. – Foul.

They clutter. – Our cities.

They interrupt. – Our view.

They move. – To make way for the expressway.

They fall. – Sick. Very sick.

They wait. – In line at hospitals as doctors attend to their private patients on the ‘A list’.

They fall. – Under ‘B list’.

They fall. – In love. Yes. They do.

They read.

They write.

They speak. – Poor English.

They look. – For work. Any. Kind. Of. Work.

They qualify. – For the Samurdhi food stamp.

They ask. – Why they have not received it for months.  (They ask every month.)

They grow. – Desperate (and a thick skin, if they are lucky.)

They learn. – To be resourceful.  When they cannot…

They kill. – Themselves.

They beg.

They steal.

They hit. – Each other. (Because they can’t hit back.)

They try. – In vain.

They long. – For an ounce of dignity.

They walk. Everywhere.

They sit.  Anywhere.

They lie.  Often.  (Because they know we can’t handle the truth.)

So I hope you ask me again.

This time I promise to sit down beside you, look you in the eye and tell you.

And then, if you weep, I promise to hold you the way my father held me.