Sent to work
without wings
I searched under cobwebs
and waylaid cocoon rings.

I traded hearts
with burning moths
and tried to save theirs
from ashen dust.

Even fireflies in autumn
pressed them between leaves
and the butterflies hid theirs
among sinew streams.

I even looked in the ocean
and studied the gills
and wondered if I could use them
as temporary swings.

I stood with birds
tried to clip theirs alive
and the bees they were noisy
the flies were a rude bunch.

At last I let go
and buried my hands
my soul soared high
with wings I thought I never had.

We are all angels
without the outer wings
our souls have them hidden
until we are ready to flee.

©Malintha Perera 2015

The world is dancing
to the lawless music playing through leaf stalks
with amber wine in our tall glasses
from which I could taste the blood
of the crushed dry earth
pouring out and running down our adorned fingers.

I can see glimpses of faces
from within the cracks of our masquerade masks
the tattoos of dry tunnels of the deep dug rivers.

The mercury dust is streaking down our strained necks
and the glittering garments we are wearing
are clinging to our hot skins with films of sweat
drenching us with a sweet burden.

The feathers are coming off our sequined disguises
making us sneeze and cough
faltering our steps
lost in the haze of smoke
rising beneath our feet
and we think it is the mist carrying us.

And yet here we are spinning the globe
between our strapped heels
unaware of the embers within ashen depths
unfurling slowly
and we are still unaware.

©Malintha Perera 2014

Trees in dark tunics
leaves reflect the pale moonlight.

The silver fur of the moon
extended claws gripping the dark
veins are stretched to a chilled red wine.

Its taste tingles on the tip of my tongue
to lick the white stains of the ambushed sky
to pluck the emblems with my teeth
and howl silently with the moon
nudging the dark space to a blushing white.

©Malintha Perera 2015

A full moon morning
not yet awake
the fully fledged stars
were down to pay homage
seated on the vines
marinated in white robes
without the usual yellow makeup.
Only the breeze was allowed to touch them
to carry away the scent on their tongues
licking the moisture from the white skins
blowing gentle puffs
into the wide mouth of the gaping wind.
The wind circled around me whispering to be gentle
as I lifted each flower one to my small tray
and laid them around and around like a milky way
not breaking their prayer with the looming moon ahead.
Too late the white disc pinned me with its glare
continued to look down gently
from a balcony of cloud sprays
I heard every word that had gone on between them
and my eyes misted
with what they said.

©Malintha Perera 2014

night dipped in moon water
trees mouthing words
a mist forming on the surface high
dew drops ******* on the cement steps
incense smoke filming the whole scene
a lonely flame
a gentle twitch
ahead of the hall
a seated statue
eyes downcast
ignoring shadows high on the wall
just a flicker now and then
breaths sliced down
pieces of vibration splinters
fishing
for light
instead
confronts
a high voltage
emptiness.

©Malintha Perera 2014

I remember
the taste of mud
when I was a child.                                                    
How it laughed beneath my fingers                                
making mellow sounds
making me grin.
I thought they were melted dark chocolate
and  would lick a stain
when no one was around
and then wish that I was the earth
to hold such love
and make people smile
with my touch.

Inside the voice
of a bird’s cry
is a ride to the distant stars
                  circling the moon
                  through black holes
a soft play of Saturn’s flat rings
a humming heartbeat
a live silence      
a frequency
echoing
          inner space.

©Malintha Perera 2014