Muwahasareli Sagare Lyrics by Clarence Wijewardena

In the sea of your smiling face, a row of pearls appeared
In the sky of your eyes, two stars rose
Hiding a rainbow, your two lips turned sweet
You turned my whole life into a hall of music

Telling wonders in the palace of the moon
Asking for news in the light of your eyes
Drawing a soft veil across the day
Gently brushing your warmth against me
I will lull you to rest, and you will be my comfort
I will speak to you of a love that never dies

Shaping a gentle grace in the disc of the moon
Wrapped in the coolness of a single dewdrop
Searching out the nectar inside a flower bud
Calming like the breeze through a forest of sal trees
I will lull you to rest, and you will be my comfort
I will speak to you of a love that never dies

A young man is looking at the woman he loves and finds that every part of her face becomes a small wonder he has to describe. That is the whole feeling of this song. He is not just saying she is beautiful. He is so taken with her that he reaches for the sky, the sea and the moon to hold what he sees, and even then it does not feel like enough.

The opening verse is built entirely from these comparisons. When he calls her smile a sea with a row of pearls in it, the pearls are her teeth, bright and even as she smiles, and in Sinhala song pearls always carry that sense of something rare and precious. Her eyes become two stars rising in the sky, the steady, glowing kind of beauty you keep looking up at. Her lips hold a hidden rainbow, all that soft colour and sweetness tucked into a smile. And then the line that ties it together: you turned my whole life into a hall of music. A raga-hala is a place where melody lives, so he is saying that since she came, his life itself has become song.

The middle of the song turns tender and protective. The grand images of sky and sea give way to small, close gestures. He talks of drawing a soft veil over the day so she can rest, of brushing his warmth against her, of telling her wonders by moonlight. This is the heart of it: I will lull you to rest, and you will be my comfort, I will speak to you of a love that never dies. The promise is simple and steady, a love meant to outlast everything.

The last verse keeps reaching for things that are gentle and cooling, and that choice is deliberate. A serene grace shaped in the face of the moon, the coolness of a single dewdrop, the nectar hidden in a flower bud, the breeze moving through a grove of sal trees. In Sinhala these are all images of calm, of something pure and quietly soothing rather than dazzling. Put together they tell you what this love feels like to him. It does not burn or overwhelm. It cools, it settles, it comforts, the way moonlight or a evening breeze does after a long day. By the end you are left with a man who wants nothing more than to keep this person close and safe, and to keep singing to her for the rest of his life.