The fallen matalus of the coconut trees
Scatter gently upon the path of the Buddha,
Easing the weariness of His sacred feet.
He walks in all four directions,
Seeking those wise enough to cross beyond samsara.
Still, I feel His presence—
Upon the distant hills, within the nearby forest.
The Buddha arrives,
The Buddha arrives alone.
Whispers rise of Mathura and Mathugama,
Where the Yamuna and Jajjara rivers flow.
Śrīpāda, mountain of light,
Belongs to all four Helas.
The Buddha arrives,
The Buddha arrives alone.
“Chakkavatti kingship”—
It rises, it falls.
Why do we divide and fight over shadows?
When foreign storms approach the Sinhalese isles,
Do not be idle, do not let them drown—
As Mani Naga Island, as Kelaniya once did.
We gaze outward at the world,
Yet forget to see ourselves,
Until death claims us unaware.
“Kaluda is black, Kaluday is black.”
Rajagala shines, a noble kingdom of Eastern Sinhale.
Here, the four sacred Tooth Relics of the Buddha remain.
The Buddha arrives,
The Buddha arrives alone.
The Gotama Monasteries of Ruhuna,
Where Thusitha’s heavenly realm once touched the earth,
Now fade like mist.
Why bring injustice upon this land of the Buddha?
Let the bells of Isipathana resound again,
Spreading the lost wisdom of the Asuras
From the summit of Srīpāda to the world.
Search the history of Sinhale with clear and faithful eyes,
And you will see the Buddha’s presence
Alive in its roots.
In the Vatsa land of the Rakshasa kingdom,
They once sought medicine to heal the Blessed One.
And when He passed, they wept
By the waters of Kiriketiya.
This is the land of the Sinhalese—
The kin of the Buddha.
The Buddha arrives,
The Buddha arrives alone.
