Pitakavare Lyrics (පිට කවරේ) by Sanjeew Lonlies

The back cover

The one walking in the burning sun, ears pierced, hair dyed,
worn-through Bata shoes, stone-bruised soles caked over with road tar,
it was to them that all five hundred and fifty Jataka tales were preached,
they are the ones, heavier than the earth, who shouldered the corpse

Rama knows Sita’s story is known only once you turn the page,
only the stalk knows the limits it bore for the sake of the flower,
seeing just the surface, many write off a person’s character as good as dead,
yet inside this very chest, Che Guevara, Osho and the Lama flicker

Once, walking upon the moon, between lotus-blue eyes,
the friend who stayed with me in my loneliness, from the flag-line to the grave,
it was never sand that always floated, only a little puffed rice on the water,
at a house of mourning, in whatever sutra, what did they recite about them

Flying off on the back of the wooden peacock into a courtyard of iron dreams,
the times flowers bloom are many, the mind’s own intoxicating scent flowed,
from far away, our friend cast a smile into their hearts,
before the book itself, we always looked only at the back cover

This is a dense, allegorical song built on the single image in its title: pita kavare, the back cover of a book. It opens with a portrait of society’s outsiders, the one walking in the burning sun with pierced ears and dyed hair, worn-through shoes and stone-bruised feet caked with road tar. These overlooked people, the song insists, are the very ones the five hundred and fifty Jataka tales were really preached to, and the ones who, heavier than the earth itself, shoulder the corpse. It is a defence of the humble and the judged, the people others look straight past.

The second verse states the theme outright. Rama learns Sita’s true story only once he turns the page, it says, and only the stalk knows the limits it endured for the flower’s sake, images for how the real story always lies beneath the surface. Seeing only the outer surface, many dismiss a whole person’s character as good as dead, and yet, the singer says, inside that same dismissed chest, Che Guevara, Osho and the Lama flicker: rebellion, spiritual searching and gentleness all alive in someone the world has written off.

The closing verses drift into dreamlike, personal imagery, a friend who stayed from the flag-line to the grave, a flight on the back of the mythic wooden peacock into a courtyard of iron dreams, the scent of the mind’s own intoxication, a smile sent from far away. It ends by naming the whole song’s regret: before we ever read the book, we always looked only at the back cover. It is a plea against judging people by their appearance and a tribute to the depth hidden in those society is quickest to overlook, with words by the monk Ven. Attidiye Punnaratana and music by Sanjeew Lonlies.