The Language of Myths

Tuesday, 15 January 2019

Far away, the lost flute sings;
lost in the chaos,
lost in the medley of sounds,
the flute sings still.

Unhurt, undistorted,
unsullied, the pure sound
comes floating like a paper boat
carrying the notes of a psalm.

I pick up the paper boat.
It's crisp and dry.
On my palm is a drop of water.
The flute has braved the storm.

SUSHAMA KARNIK

Thanks for the image +pasajul de noapte
and thanks for the Flute Song +tony langmach

Originally shared by pasajul de noapte (noapte)

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himalayas1947.blogspot.com

My Poems. Bird Of Paradise Bird of a strange paradise, how you descend upon the shallow tide with ruffled feathers and a quiet grace! The dawn is the time to wake up and face the new day with your secret strength. Let me watch you dance with all my days. Bird of paradise, let me match my footsteps upon the shores of your immaculate white sands. Ruffled feathers and a quiet grace, you have dropped a message in my lap. I read your presence in every wind upon the virgin sand. A breeze from an unknown land, peace from a healing song, your melody drifts on the waters here; I listen, and drown in the scent of stillness that wraps me all around