Adare Nuwarata Shapayak Lyrics by Abhisheka Wimalaweera

A dream that cradled love,
I sat imagining, for an aeon,
and because of the scorn, the sheer sorrow I bore,
love became a curse upon this city…

By the gravestone, again tomorrow morning,
I will search for your spring-like eyes,
and if you have the time, would you leave,
by the gravestone, two flowers for company?….

I am not begging for a love,
I don’t even feel any emptiness,
to embrace, to have something to lean on,
no, I don’t need a shoulder
but even having said all that, just once,
what I need in my chest,
is a little room!!

A raw, wounded song whose title says it all: adare nuwarata saapayak, a curse upon the city of love. The singer spent, he says, an aeon imagining a dream that cradled love, and for all the scorn and sorrow it brought him, love itself has curdled into a curse on the very place he once loved in. This is heartbreak turned bitter.

The middle is quietly devastating. He pictures himself returning to a gravestone each morning to search for her spring-like eyes, and asks, if she has the time, whether she would leave two flowers there by the grave, for company. Whether the grave is literal or a symbol for a dead love, the image is of someone tending the remains of something that can never live again.

The last verse is proud denial cracking right at the end. He insists he is not begging for love, does not even feel lonely, does not need a shoulder to lean on or to embrace, and then, having said all that, admits the one small thing he does need: just a little room in his chest, a little space to breathe past the grief. Written and sung by Abhisheka Wimalaweera to music by Sanjeew Lonlies, it is a portrait of someone insisting he is fine while quietly asking for room enough to survive the loss.