Eda Gimkala

Even in the drought of that day, putting out buds,
your tree-crown, in love,
the spring that dawned like the moon,
why has it wilted, my love?

The soft words you spoke the day before,
that sweetness that filled the heart,
now falls on the ear like a spear,
how strange, the way it has grown old

If we are not to meet each other again,
I will depart in this rainy season,
I throw the windows open to the new wind,
of the summer that is dawning

A wistful heartbreak song about a love that flourished and then, inexplicably, withered. It opens with a green memory: even in the drought of that day, her tree-crown put out buds in love, their love grew even in hard, dry times. Which makes the question ache all the more: the spring that had dawned like the moon, why has it now wilted, my love?

The middle marks how tenderness has curdled. The soft words you spoke the day before, the sweetness that filled the heart, now falls on the ear like a spear. The very words that once comforted now wound; and he marvels, sadly, at how strange, the way it has grown old. Love turned, and its warmth turned with it.

The close is a quiet leave-taking. If we are not to meet again, he says, I will depart in this rainy season; and, in a gesture of fragile hope, I throw the windows open to the new wind of the summer that is dawning. He leaves the old season of love behind and lets fresh air in. Sung by Harshana Disanayake, it is a gentle, wistful song about a love that bloomed even in drought and then withered, and the resolve to open the windows and walk into a new season alone.