Strings

Six strings full of someone,
of cobweb filled rains,
distending into the ivied
moss on irrevocable acts
of existence.

Four strings full of time,
filled with battles, none won,
with the slow footsteps
of wrinkled men,
a continuity of the countless
anonymous agonies to Atlantis.

Two strings full of memory,
of obscure fires,
burning inside the cage of stones;
in the wisdom of aging rivers
in the palm of silhouettes.

A string full of remorse
you call it an "Ektara"
I call it my soul.

5/9/2006 7:19 PM