A sweltering tropical night,
The electric saw of her heartlessness,
cutting my dead heart’s woods,
I salvage a fragment of myself
from the slaughter house,
I carry the cutting like a treasure,
The melody is still alive
in its wooden fibers,
That’s where my tapasya lies,
I’ve to work like a passionate artist
and shape the flute
to bring it closer to life,
Then like a flautist
touch my lips to the flute
to come still closer to life,--
to love, to hope, to smile.
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