My failing heart
Where are the ants going, uncle?
Do they switch on the gum-glue
Going up the wall or glass
On padded caterpillar feet? And, uncle
Why do leaves turn yellow, and fall
And the fluff-borne, wind-blown seeds twirl-swirl,
Fairies on magic carpets - where do they go?
How do the dun-coloured clouds transform so
Into feathery, faery, fleeing, fluttering doves
And scatter in a blue, cerulean sky
The colour of mother’s eyes...?
Where are you my child? Where?
Though I wear my trousers tear-tasselled,
The magic you infused into my blood
Still warms my failing heart.
Ben Rasnaek

Magic phenomenon
At last the great fiery sun began
To sink behind the purple mountain wall
Below, on the barren land, the light became dusky
The clouds changed from gold to black
The dust swept backwards and forwards in the strong wind
A little bird flapped its wings and flew away from a dead tree
Near a dried up stream
The sky cried out.
Drops of rain began to fall
On the thirsty land.
Little by little a small plant, sleeping through the earth for ages
Came out
A sweet fragrant white flower was gleaming on the snow white water.
K.K.G.I. Dilmini

Magic
Magic is in the air
I can feel it in the swish of the wind
And in the chanting of the nocturnal creatures...
The moon beams creep through the woods
Making eerie shadows and shine on the river
Like crystal balls.....
Silence is broken by a purring of a black cat
With its eyes beckoning in the dark..........
It is just the night for witches
To brew their magic portions and make evil spells
Or fly away on their brooms...
Magic is in the air
Lahiru Gangoda

The magic wand
I see her waving her magic wand in front of me
I see her taking powder, lipstick and many paint sticks
I sit patiently until she finishes let her practise her magic
I want to hear them say “Oh you look wonderful”
“A pretty bride you are”.
I give this lady her chance to hide my blemishes
And dark patches with her magic wand
Hey presto!
I am beautiful enough to face him!
Manel Chandrasena

Magic miracle
With little words and innumerable instincts,
I had taken a huge part of him.
For he stands firm on the ground - much appreciated,
Like a gigantic tree with enough shelter
Though air-borne.
A weary traveller never asks its history.

Once, when I found him,
Miscellaneous scraps was he.
Chased away, labelled and sealed
By the society by whom he was manipulated.
Now I often see his beauty
Suppressed by stagnation before.

His origin ought to be superior.

Even he praises me mellifluously.
It was I who made the spell cast
And don’t care whether I boast
It’s magic to see that
Now, he’s a poet.
Erandi Abeywardana

A magician
They call me a ‘magician’
Well, that’s what I am.
I do things and people say,
Unbelievable, incredible, magnificent!
I make things disappear,
I change one thing to another.
Little ones look at me with half opened mouths
They think I’m God.
But - when I go home
My little ones come and search the bag.
They look disappointed.
I’m helpless, what can I do?
They’re waiting,
Waiting for me to work some ‘magic’
They’re waiting
Till I change something to a loaf of bread,
Most of all - they’re waiting
Till I bring back their dead mother.
Shayama Samaranayake

Piper’s magic
Mozart, Shanker and Amaradeva
In a deep slumber
Down in the attic
Forever gathering dust
Whilst in the post living room
Offensive lyrics blast
Through the speakers
To a metallic tune
Piercing the ears at 7000W
With crisp surround effect.
Abstract images change
At a dizzy pace
On a giant screen.
Millions of youngsters
Trapped in a trance
Hypnotized by the Piper’s magic
While many an ancient culture
Is swallowed without mercy.
Diversity is a defunct word
In this global village
Thushara Chaturanga

The real magic
The longing that I had
to see a witch
zooming around on a magic broom,
The endless roamings I had
to be rescued by a goblin,
The burning desire
to catch a glimpse of the top hat
of a wicked wizard
have all died away
leaving me in despair
among the ‘real’ witches and wizards
of the true world.
Deepanjalie

Cuckoo
Plumage that surpasses the inkiest pitch,
Exudes a sheen that dazzles the beholder.
A marvel of creation,
A masterpiece of “black magic”,
Satiating his hunger on scattered mulberries,
Straining his beak to encompass the fruit
Exposing the scarlet shock of his throat.
Then defying gravity, he soars heavenward,
Shooting past all things cumbersome and slow,
A class act in nature’s spectacular carnival,
A star in his own right, he steals the show.
Shivanthi Balasuriya

Magic and mythology
Traversing vast verandahs
Of the marble-pillared temple,
I think of those gods and nymphs
Of antiquity.
Their flawless forms
And perfect chiselled faces
Immortalized in sculpted stone
And gleaming murals.
Their cynical smiles
Are everywhere.
As if by magic we stand
Transfixed by their piercing,
Brilliant, hypnotizing eyes.
They see our futile endeavours,
Our follies and achievements
Our vanities and visions.
The gods and nymphs
Will still remain when we are gone,
Whatever might be our fate.
Jegatheeswari Nagendran

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