What would life
have in its tail
without music
what point is there in living
if our motions are not
accompanied by it
will we learn by then
the euphony of living
and the rhythm it entails:
no more wailing
in the cradle
of a mother's arms
the cacophony of the
daily traffic jam you'd
admittedly miss, too
the crackling of leaves
as you stepped on them
wishing you can still
do it in blazers or coat
and every animal
sound you've awoken to
see, a sound so trivial
can be as symphonic
as a reprise, a finale
or a tragic coda, sometimes
a humble introduction
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PuisiI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
