Amme Mathakai Nam Lyrics (අම්මේ මතකයි නම්) by Ranidu Lankage

Mother, if I remember right, when I was small
you used to sing songs to me.
Mother, if I remember right, when I was small
you stayed awake beside me as I slept.
You brought me dreams and woke me into those dreams.
You taught me my letters and opened my eyes to see.
You showed me the sun and the moon, made clear the good from the bad.
You sent me off to school and wiped away my tears.
There is no end, my mother, to the melody of your dreams,
to your love so full of kindness, always.
Until I die in this world, your gentle goodness will be sung,
the ocean of your tender, joyful heart, always…..

Mother, if I remember right, when I was small
you used to sing songs to me.
Mother, if I remember right, when I was small
you stayed awake beside me as I slept.
You won me a crown and set it on me before the world.
You handed me victory while you hid your own tears.
You held me up in your sky while you stayed down on the ground.
The day I became a man was the day you became a mother.
There is no end, my mother, to the melody of your dreams,
to your love so full of kindness, always.
Until I die in this world, your gentle goodness will be sung,
the ocean of your tender, joyful heart, always…..

(Mother, if I remember right, when I was small
you used to sing songs to me.
Mother, if I remember right, when I was small
you stayed awake beside me as I slept…..//)

This is a son’s song to his mother, a grown man looking back and thanking her for everything she did when he was too small to understand it. He keeps saying “if I remember right,” because these are his earliest memories, the songs she sang over his cradle, the nights she sat up beside him so he could sleep. From that first line you can feel the whole shape of the song: a child who has now grown up and finally sees how much was given to him.

The first half walks through the ordinary, daily acts of raising a child, and treats each one as something sacred. She brought him dreams and then woke him into them, taught him his letters, opened his eyes to the world, showed him the sun and the moon, and taught him to tell right from wrong. She walked him to school and wiped his tears. None of this is grand on its own, and that is the point. The song is saying that the real work of a mother is this patient, invisible, everyday care, and that a child only understands its worth much later.

The imagery in the chorus is where the feeling deepens. He calls her love “the melody of your dreams,” because every hope she carried for him was like a song that never ends. Then he reaches for the image Sri Lankan poetry loves most for something boundless, the ocean: he calls her kindness “an ocean of tender, joyful goodness,” meaning her love has no shore and no bottom, it simply goes on. The word he uses, muditha, carries the idea of a quiet, selfless gladness, joy taken in another person’s happiness rather than one’s own, which is exactly how he sees her giving.

The second verse holds the line that lands hardest. “You won me a crown and set it on me before the world, you handed me victory while you hid your own tears. You held me up in your sky while you stayed down on the ground.” Every success of his was lifted up by her, while she quietly swallowed her own pain and asked for no credit. And then the closing turn: “The day I became a man was the day you became a mother.” He means that her motherhood was not finished when he was born, it was made real and complete only by years of raising him, and the man he is now is the proof of what she became. He promises that as long as he lives in this world, he will keep singing her gentle goodness. It is a simple, heartfelt thank-you to a mother, the kind of debt a person spends a whole life trying to repay.