Meedum Dumaraye Lyrics by Kasun Kalhara

In the misty fog, at the hour the cold breeze drifts by
In the half-light of a dream, don’t you wish to be with me
alone, here in the hollow
of green-leafed branches…..
In the hollow of green-leafed branches, here…..

Waking, leaving sleep behind………
hidden even from the bees among the flowers……….
don’t you wish to be alone with me
here in the hollow of green-leafed branches…..
in the hollow of green-leafed branches…. here…..

Built out of a wave.. ha….
a tent pitched there….. a….,
don’t you wish to be alone with me
here in the hollow of green-leafed branches…..
in the hollow of green-leafed branches…. here…..

A young man is quietly asking the girl he loves to slip away with him, somewhere far from everyone, just the two of them. He picks the most secret hour to do it, that grey, misty stretch of early morning when a cold breeze is moving through and the world is still half asleep. The whole song is one soft invitation, repeated like a wish he keeps coming back to: don’t you want to be alone with me here.

The place he describes isn’t a real spot you could point to on a map. It’s a tucked-away green hollow, a little dip in the land shaded by leafy branches, the kind of hidden green nook where two people could disappear from the world. In Sinhala song, that green leaf shade and that quiet hollow stand for shelter and privacy, a small protected pocket where love can be its own thing, untouched. He wants to wake her out of sleep and lead her there while the dawn is still soft and dreamlike, before anyone else stirs.

The tender lines are the ones that show how shy and careful this longing is. He wants to be hidden “even from the bees among the flowers,” which is his playful way of saying he wants this to be theirs alone, secret from every living thing, even the bees that have every right to be among the flowers. And then he imagines a shelter built “out of a wave,” a tent pitched there, something with no real walls at all. It’s a dream of a home made of nothing solid, a love nest conjured out of mist and morning and feeling, as airy and fleeting as the fog he sings about.

What stays with you is the gentleness of it. There’s no heat or urgency, only a soft, hopeful asking, the wish to steal a little while alone with someone before the world wakes up and the moment slips away like the mist.