Hitha Wawannema Na Lyrics (හිත වාවන්නේම නෑ) by Bathiya and Santhush (BnS)

My heart just can’t bear it, and you won’t come back again
I still believe that I am yours
The dreams you gave me in the milk-white midnight never see the light of dawn

You still believe that you are mine
I still believe that I am yours
You still believe that you are mine
I still believe that I am yours

This life never told me, even with its sighs, the sweet love story
It was you who taught it to me, my love
Can’t you still keep your eyes closed a while, not wake just yet?
I can’t look at this any longer
Wrapped in cold, my two eyes are like lamps that have gone out
Why are you leaving, my love…//

My heart just can’t bear it, and you won’t come back again
You still believe that you are mine…
I still believe that I am yours…

Those days you slept in my lap won’t come again
I just can’t be left alone
Brushing again and again against your hair, that day I searched for its scent
I can’t stay this close to you any longer
You don’t love me
You’ve cast me aside, careless
Why are you leaving, my love…

My heart just can’t bear it, and you won’t come back again
I still believe that I am yours
The dreams you gave me in the milk-white midnight never see the light of dawn
You still believe that you are mine
I still believe that I am yours
You still believe that you are mine
I still believe that I am yours

A young man is standing at the end of a love, watching the woman he loves walk away for good, and his heart simply refuses to accept it. That is the ache the whole song is built on. He knows she is leaving and won’t return, yet in the same breath he keeps repeating that he still belongs to her and she still belongs to him. The repeated lines “you still believe you are mine, I still believe I am yours” are not a statement of fact so much as a wish he can’t let go of, the part of him that hasn’t caught up with what is happening.

The imagery turns on dreams that never get to live. He calls the midnight “milk-white” (kiri kodu), which in Sinhala carries the soft, pure, tender feeling of milk, the colour of something new and innocent. In that gentle midnight she gave him dreams, but those dreams “never see the light of dawn,” they die before morning. It is his way of saying the future they imagined together never gets to become real. He even pleads with her to keep her eyes closed a little longer, as if as long as she doesn’t fully wake and walk out the door, the moment they shared can still be held. When he says his eyes are like lamps gone out, wrapped in cold, he means the light has drained out of him, the warmth of being loved has been replaced by something cold and dead.

The small, physical memories are what cut deepest. He remembers the days she slept in his lap, and how he would press his face into her hair searching for its scent. These are the close, ordinary intimacies of being a couple, and now they are gone, which is why he says he can’t bear to stand this close to her anymore. It hurts too much to be near her knowing she is already leaving.

By the end he says the plainest, hardest thing out loud: you don’t love me, you’ve thrown me aside without a thought. The question he keeps returning to, “why are you leaving, my love,” is one he already knows the answer to. What stays with the listener is that gap between his head and his heart, he understands she is gone, but he still calls her “my love,” and he still, against all reason, believes he is hers.