You don’t like my keening sound
haunting, melancholic
whispers of a distant land
with peaceful breezes
whispering fronds
mud after rain
sleekly oiled hair
tightly coiled fitting as snugly
as the bodice on a slight
well balanced body

kept in harmony
by spices, herbs
grown with loving care
mixed judiciously
stirred into blood over
eons of time

flowing golden
silver attempting
to recapture the goldeness
glittering with
the heavy sheen of bronze
tiring to the dull grey of iron
heavily collapsing on itself

releasing me to sing
my lonely tune
floating free through space
telling tales to anyone with ears
to harken, listen, grieve
melancholise, smelt
into the folds of my waves
forever condemned to mourn

celebrate, hoping to
get caught, be caressed
by the ever waving fronds
fanning, blowing, teasing
golden bodies
wrapped, absorbed
in the eternal dance of
union with the One

for only they
can breathe in
their own song
if they heard it
perchance
broadcast
over and over
again
through
never-ending space…

  ~ Sultana Raza © 2007

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