Sansara Puruddada Me ( Sihina Wasanthayak ) Lyrics by Amal Perera

This is a habit carried over from saṃsāra (the cycle of rebirth)
This meeting, this longing
Even knowing you can never be mine
There is no parting between us
Love is an ocean of joy
Love is a sweet secret

I never imagined it, not even in my deepest thoughts
With one glance, longing rose upon longing
As if fate itself had shown the way
This meeting is a thing of pure chance
Even knowing it can never be mine
There is no parting between us…

A young man has fallen for someone he knows he can never call his own, and instead of fighting that, he makes a kind of peace with it. He tells himself this pull toward her is not new at all, it is a habit his soul picked up over many past lives. That is what the opening line means by saṃsāra, the Buddhist idea of the long cycle of birth and rebirth. When he says loving her is an old habit from saṃsāra, he is saying the feeling is older than this lifetime, as if they have met before in other lives and his heart simply recognised her again.

The ache in the song is that she is not his to keep, and he says so plainly. Yet right after admitting she can never be his, he insists there is no real parting between them. He is not talking about staying together in the everyday sense. He means that even if they live apart, the bond does not break, because to him love itself is the thing that lasts, not the having. He calls it an ocean of joy and a sweet secret, two small images that tell you he is holding this love quietly inside, treasuring it rather than chasing it.

In the second verse he describes how it began, and it is the oldest story there is, one look. He had never thought of her this way, it had not crossed his mind even once, and then a single glance changed everything and longing rose up wave after wave. He reads the whole accident of meeting her as the hand of fate, something destiny arranged, and yet in the same breath he calls it pure chance. That gentle contradiction is the heart of the song. He cannot decide whether it was meant to be or whether it just happened, and in the end it does not matter to him.

What the listener is left holding is a tender, grown-up kind of love, the love you carry for someone you will never be with. There is no bitterness in it and no demand. He has accepted that she will not be his, he has folded the longing into something he can live with, and he keeps it the way you keep a sweet secret, close to the chest and never quite let go.