Torn was the fabric of our
painful pasts.

torn by shots fired from heart
to heart, ricocheting between

bruises and disappointments,
then wedging themselves between

ribs, to rest and incapsulate.
I run my asking fingers across

your entry wound.
we did this to ourselves.

torn to pieces, the drapes between
us and The Holiest of Heavens.

let us never cease fire.
empty your every clip;

beautiful, beautiful
bullets.

With time
they dissipate

no harm
but some broken thought

ash-tray philosophies; you
have a lungful

of sorrows.

I am a sound.
Can you hear me?
My vibration,
my waves.
Can you feel me?
I am not anybody's echo.
I am me,
unique yet beautiful.
If I remain unheard
despite my presence,
perhaps,
I deserve someone better
who is waiting just for me
to complete his music.

Cradle my emotions in the gentlest of whispers
Lace my heart with sultriest of ribbons
Fill full my sail with the worthiest of winds
Engulf my being in the sweetest of notions

Colour me beautiful with the most vibrant of rainbows
Propel my universe into the farthest reaches
Soothe my aches with the most abundant love
Carry my vessel to the sandiest of beaches

Embed my thoughts within the fluffiest clouds
Let soar my dreams on the bravest of kites
Set my destination in the furthest horizons
Present me with life's buffet with the tastiest of bites

It was the running wind
more than touched me
not so gently
slapping my face
pulling the hair over my face
making a wild disarray
dumping the shawl around my neck
to a muddy puddle nearby .
Like everything else it just passed
not even looking back at the mess it made on me
I ran my fingers though my hair
rearranged myself
moved on.
the wind did not seep in
through my skin.

©Malintha Perera 2014

Staring a hole in the
seat in front of me.
even the mornings are night
in winter,

so far from the summer nights
when the sun barely dips
below the
horizon.

finally a film of powder snow
with tire marks from
other busses whisper
Norwegian winter,

and a far deeper, crisper cold
will feel like breathing
crystal, only the hint of
firewood burning in

nearby houses lends homely
comfort to the smell of
nature against whom a layer of
clothes is the only armour

between a life lost and not.
cold fingers. nothing makes you
miss a woman like the scent of
her face; hair;

person
on
your
hands.

The skies hold back their
white gold for now.
ground kissed by frost;

everything hard and rigid
under tired feet.
I scrape ice from the

windshield without gloves.
who needs to feel their fingers
anyway?

it's as if every particle between
my face and the stratosphere
is still, not moving so as not

to attract the attention of the
coldness. I follow their example
and look up into the night sky.

stars so clear. so many. for a while
I wonder if some divine hand
has scraped the ice from

the window to
outer
space.

give me a break
from the seas rough
I greed a bellyache
badly need to laugh!

for too long weathered
a stormy bumpy ride
I need a breather
bare a guffaw wide!

give me a break
give me a break
life is burdened enough

give me a break
not give a heartache
I badly need to laugh!

been too long bowed down
with the pangs of grief
needs himself this clown
a laugh’s relief!

long buzzed this head
with the groans of pain
this heart has bled
time and again!

*give me a break
give me a break
life is burdened enough

give me a break
not give a heartache
I badly need to laugh!

it is the way of things,

while there are birds.


while you read, you will

not understand  all words,

that is the way of things, soak

those stains in washings.


then look quietly, see a new.


cellular memory, let be, and learn,

that small birds fly up.

sbm.

Please touch me not 
without touching
my heart and soul