I
The artist sits atop the bombai muttai clouds
that sail languidly in these skies
Spiffing and misting
Spiffing and misting
Hastily a hand is dipped into the ethereal black
Spinning swirled fingertips soon to be encased
in moon-dust glitter
the brush poised
tasting, tasting
swallowing the sterling metal moon
mercury melting and blossoming
the brush then dips and swerves
dips and swerves
careful lines of misdemeanor
the highlight tinged hues of forgotten dreams
the tip of a retriever’s ear
and its snuffled de-pigmented rose nose
spreading and stretching
spreading and stretching
as tendrils burst out of distant mountains
golden liquid spilt haphazardly
in a flurry of disaster
the clouds dipped in blinding watercolour.
And the sky earnestly blushes
Blood red lips kissing the stars.

      II
It is 5:53 am;
Dawn.
I am watching the artist’s canvas unfold
This sliver of time
The black is muddled with dirtying paint
that explodes.
I can smell the fire that boils and bubbles
beneath the surface,
Taste the odd tang as I try to swallow the spilt oranges
And watch it blossom on my gums.
I am drifting in and out
In and out
Of fevered anxiety
Clutching and unclutching my palms
that carry the winding asphalt roads that ooze tar.
My fingertips graze the cool window
The sudden click and whir of epiphany
Clutching my arms
It begs my soul to scramble out of these doors.

            III
Shifting in the shadows
I am dancing on these empty
shimmering pearl streets
Stepping past the white veins
And it’s synapses;
Blatant disregard for
a puppy curled up in a pile in front of
Piyasena’s kadé
Salivating for future sapidity
As the city sleeps in drunken stupor.
Hesitantly bite my lip
And peel off my skin
In delicate introspection
Shivering at the pink raw skin beneath
Like a butterfly emerging
out of a succulent cocoon.

               IV
A sun kissed bicycle peeps out of a corner
Rust creeping up it’s sides
Screaming and screaming about being forgotten.
I understand it’s snivels and whimpers.
Tip-tapping on the curving leather seat
I laugh
   And laugh
as the worn wheels turn
And the wind is simpering in my hair
Singing bohemian rhapsody at the top of my lungs
Chipped notes in the air
                                   “Is this the real life?
                                   Is this just fantasy?
                                  Caught in a landslide,
                                  No escape from reality.”
The pedals twisting and turning
As I let these wee hour licked streets enslave me.

                 V
The floorboards are creeking with the weight of my rampant thoughts-
Some might say they’re hollow
But not me
Inside me
is me
Or is it my mind that speaks to me?
Who is it,
Is it he the one that begs me to sin
Or begs me to steal starlight?
……
…
.
I am caging the birds
Hidden in my ribs
Longing to fly south- away from the chill.
They call me the oxymoron of foolish choices
and sunlit opportunities
or the sad soul
that reeks
of desired love;
foolishly deceptive
like the moon that shrugs on
the sun’s fluorescent raincoat.

             VI
Today, Looking in the looking glass
Pale face
Locked eyes
That do not betray whispered secrets of being unloved.
I’m flipping past the musty pages of my soul
Connecting the full-stops and the hyphens and
Dashes of lost conversation
Folding and unfolding paper.

          VII
Here I am
Writing love letters.
On the pages of crumbling notebooks
I am playing my heart strings
And listening to the music spiral out of my lungs.
Today I will fill these empty spaces
With the feather-light traces
Quietly learning the lines
And the hestitant fullstops on my spine
Stuffing the mail slots
With what it means to be loved,
warily untangling the knots.

*bombai muttai-  Bombai muttai is the Sri Lankan equivalent to cotton candy, or candy floss.    It's spun sugar. It can be pink or, in its more natural state, brownish white.

*kadé- Sinhalese for shop