Sunday, May 14, 2017

Music Of Her Flute

Music Of Her Flute
© Surazeus
2017 05 14

"The boundless blue sky that mirrors our world
reveals that my existence is the lark
that chirps in the poplar tree in the park."
So the old man with a hammer and saw
builds a computer desk from poplar wood
for his granddaughter who loves to draw
pictures of boys and cats with PhotoShop.

Sitting alone on a bench in the park,
crowded with people collected in groups,
the old man watches clouds glowing with light
billow like waterfalls gush over stones,
and clutches the wood flute he never plays
which his mother gave him when he was twelve,
then whispers to the bird in the flower bush.

"When I look at the surface of the pond
which reflects clear everything that exists,
I cannot see my face, so I invent
strange new name to call myself every day.
Because I could perform a thousand acts
arrayed before me on a thousand roads
and walk into a thousand different worlds
I sit still at the center of this world,
unmoving stone in the wild swirl of atoms."

Rain falls from the clouds swirling over town
and everyone runs for cover under trees
or in doorways of stores along the street,
but the old man still sits on the wood bench,
gazing upward with squinting eyes at drops
of sparkling light that fall into his mind.
"I am a tree so I need rain to grow."
He laughs when two boys run back in the rain
to leap into puddles bright in the grass.

Watching the old man with long tangled hair
laugh on the wood bench in the pouring rain,
the mother of the boys frowns and points.
"That old man tells so many fancy stories
he wanders lost in meaningless delusions,
so though he knows whole history of the world
he knows nothing about our modern era.
Since he has changed his name so many times
he long ago forgot the real name
his mother gave before he was born.
The only name that is real is the name
your mother gives you before you are born."

Three red birds flit on branches of oak trees.
The young girl in a pink dress of white flowers
pushes an empty baby carriage slow
and stops under the bare black cherry tree.
"No pink petals flutter on my black hair.
I will bear no child from my barren womb.
My mother was pregnant with me when bombs
blossomed red flowers and poison rain fell.
My first memory when I was a girl
was my mother singing, eyes full of tears,
Takeda Lullaby with haunting voice."

Smiling through a thousand drops of green rain,
the old man with blue eyes offers the flute
to the young girl pushing an empty carriage.
After staring at the flute for three hours,
Akane takes it from the hand of Odin
and plays haunting music in swirling rain.
All the people in the world stand entranced
at weird harmony of her aching heart,
then dance in sync with music of her flute,
stepping and leaping on wings of the wind,
moving their fingers on long writhing arms
as if they weave sunlight in flower blossoms,
and eyes gazing at the swirling Black Star
that blazes at core of our galaxy,
while her melody glitters in their blood.

After rain leaves shining drops of sunlight
on everything, the old man walks alone
with teeming crowd on the long city street,
like a pine cone floating on river current.
The name and deeds of every person glows
around their faces when they pass him by
but no one sees when he floats in the sky
and all the world becomes his dreaming eye.

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