Sunday, April 05, 2009
Sonnet 10 - Ode to the bamboo flute
In the shakuhachi's quivering tone
I braid fingers to hold my heart within.
Music's fire stoked through a bamboo bone
While memories glide on a rusting fin.
He plays dulcet tunes of his village streams
And the many nubiles he loved from far.
He strains, trembles on tunes of splintered dreams
And in wanton tweets, drapes many a scar.
I meet a song's eye, and lo! mine are wet
It's the wind, the dust, the singing reed's play
That shakes the tree above, and sands upset,
Lest why'd I cry, Oh! stop your grave essay.
In breath you rise and in others, breath pause
In lack and surfeit you breeze Divine laws.