In the forest blooming with Ashoka flowers,
There are ripened fruits — bring them to me.
In the outer moat of Sigiriya,
Water lilies bloom — gather them for me to wear.
Come to Sigiriya…
Come in secret.
As long as the Ravana-hastha harp is played,
As long as the Sinhala drums resound,
Until the break of dawn,
I can dance —
I shall never grow weary.
And when, in the morning,
The conch of the kingdom’s victory begins to echo,
And the Hevisi drums begin to thunder,
Then softly, without a sound upon the stone steps,
Let us descend together
And make our way to the temple of Pidurangala.
