I live for nights like this,
When nothing matters
Except the rain that parades the ancient metal roof,
Like nature's metronome, and it's begging.
It's begging me to bring out my mildly neglected Gibson
And unroot a pick from atop my dresser.
My fingers can taste rust on the strings,
And I like it.
I live for nights like this,
When I sit in my room and play lofty minor chords
To my audience of no one.
I love the scratchy pain in my throat
After I sing for hours about absolutely nothing.
The stereotypical teenage guitar player,
Not doing their homework, not doing anything
Besides putting their heart into 16 bars.
I live for nights like this.

autumn wind
shakes the dark clouds…
a laugh bursts

the rising mist
catches my skin…
warm fingers

sound of rain
on the roof…
a tap dance

on leaves…
the thump they bring
unroot silence

water strips
outside the window…
puddles crackle

fallen leaves
float by and by…
waving shadows

wind and the rain… ticks everywhere

rain drops blend moist air….. sweetness

loud gasps
from the skies…
thunder

lightning flashes
a brief glimpse…
thoughts

© Malintha Perera 2014

Typing doesn't bring you back
why?

Why
my
words
became
bland white spaces:
symbiotic thick black ink
evaporeted; symbols extinguished
by my horrid hope lost.
Hands are wings
of
hope.

Hope - I - too
can capture your smile
alive one-day.

Words drift
me - by myself
cadence
you - by yourself
alone
Each-one of us- a Poet
Intertwined
Please. . .
Embrace my love,
don't mix my mind!
Why do you hide behind your made-up chaos?
Fractals have a strange mystic impact
on chaotic pulse within
nlp beats & heart
growing
green-greeneeshee
greenee-shy Grin
songs of glasses
Tambourine.

Whipped white cream
in the year of a woolen lambs -
and I am not marry.
Yet,
I stand like an Isle
unyielding, connected to my
stubborn roots.

Dignified is the highest
peak of a mountain.
Riding the clouds up there, you should see me
screaming, my love to You whirled away. . .

Barren land, wiped by the wild winds.
rattling raindrops, ruby tears.
Are you just an illusion?
Are you a dream to be:
Purple bushes breath.
Red bushes breathe.
Unroot them! Not!
Vine of my heart gone.

Tiny book in my palms -
pages, passages
of love found
as a promise,
My soul is moved.

Picturesque poetry,
miniature
beauty.
The World
loved again.
sea, pisces, sand
**Peaceful, Safe land.

When trees dream,
their branches drift in sky
acting like brushes to paint clouds.

They whisper calling birds to
dillydally tickling leaves
that make it laugh.

When trees dream,
they bond with wind,
and play peekaboo with inch worms
who hide in their bark.

They unroot and dance
on highways of Mother Natures grassy hair,
as fairies play flutes.

They explode with flowers
whose scents encourage
spiders to weave masterpieces.

When trees dream,
they travel into some humans sleep time
trying to send them messages
to come home to Mothers voice.