High on Music

Two old men…

They have seen so much
Now they know what beauty is
A flawed sliver of purity
Once clamped in an oyster
But stuck no more.

Nothing matters when art itself
Divines them with its presence


Kutch singer…

A voice like sandpaper
Shiny, rough, rich
it swishes and tickles
cracks, glistens with smoothness
He is the Lord of all
with his august echoes
Tonight he is King
and the omnipresent air is his Kingdom
The sand is his soul, everywhere but ungraspable
free but unclaspable
I yearn to express gratitude
Only to open my eyes, and see him smile



I am civilized now, so I bob my head
I am polite, so I occasionally clap
I am modern, so I appreciate
But I do not do what my heart craves most
I yearn to be free, to jump, to fly, to sway, to dance
I remain reserved, but I see a head of gray
Resting on two frail shoulders
Which hanger a shirt too large
She jumps, she flies, she sways, she dances
She is free
She is youth, despite her swollen joints and angular hands
These hands twirl and swirl
Without regard to the long necks and raised brows around her

We spend our lives being appropriate
Only to realize towards the end
That there is no point to it all

She remembers how it was in the beginning
When there were no rules, no walls
No impossible
And when she closes her eyes, she sees her heart beating
Thumping so fast as she is running
Under a warm sun
On the wet grass
She remembers the joy she inhaled
It filled her lungs
And flooded her heart
It streamed through her blood
And tickled the tips of her fingers
It twitched the sides of her mouth
And scrunched her eyes
When it got there

They smile with civility
How nice, an old woman dancing
How cute, how charming
I know the secret they don’t
She is happier than any of them will ever be
She always was.


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