Adareyi Nam Enna Lyrics by Sureni De Mel

If you love me, then come to me, with no sweet flattery,
don’t be a fickle one who shows the truth but lives a lie. //

Those eyes of yours bound themselves in love to win my heart, didn’t they,
you longed to keep whispering these threads of thought for an age, didn’t you.
But close to you, do the shadows of a bittersweet love begin to fall?
If the feelings of this love are pure, I’ll stay without a word.

If you love me …..

Did the little birds who lost their way ever get their wings?
My heart is afraid to give itself away, yet I’ll stay here close to you.
Don’t imagine that everyone yet to be born will love the same way.
Like Sakuntala, I’ll devote myself to you with love, every single day.

If you love me ………

A young woman is speaking to the man she loves, and her one request is simple: if you really love me, just come to me, and leave the sweet talk behind. She has had enough of pretty words that sound true but turn out to be empty. Right from the first line she draws a clear line between honest love and a charming liar, and she wants nothing to do with the second. The whole song is her asking for something plain and rare, love that means what it says.

From there she remembers how it began. His eyes drew her in, the way she felt sure he had fallen for her too, and the promise that the two of them would keep talking and dreaming together for a lifetime. The Sinhala here stretches that lifetime out to a kalpaya, an aeon in Buddhist thought, an almost endless span of time. That is how long she once believed this love would last. But under all that hope sits a quiet fear. She asks whether, up close, this love has a bittersweet shadow to it, whether something painful is hiding behind the tenderness. Her answer to herself is brave and tender at once: if his feelings are truly pure, she will stay, and she won’t even need to ask for proof.

The images she reaches for carry the rest. The little birds who lost their way and wonder if they will ever get their wings are she and him, two people unsure whether their love will ever be free to fly. She admits her heart is scared to fully give itself away, the word she uses, puda, is the language of an offering, almost something sacred, so handing herself over feels that serious to her. And yet she chooses to stay close anyway. When she warns him not to assume everyone born after this will love him the same way, she is quietly telling him how rare she is, that a love like hers is not something he will simply find again.

The last line is the one that seals it. She names Sakuntala, the heroine of the old Sanskrit story who waited and stayed faithful to her king through long separation and even when he had forgotten her. By placing herself beside that figure, she is making a vow: I will be loyal and devoted to you like that, every day, for as long as it takes. What the listener is left holding is the gentleness of it. This isn’t a demand or a complaint, it’s a woman offering steady, honest love and quietly asking only that the man meet her with the same truth.