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“That man's life is but a dream - is what we now come to know.” Monk Sougi ( 1421 - 1502 )
There is a play, of words and songs
To which we have sealed in our lips.
Its tune we sing in our echoing souls
Resounding like a cave on fire.
We are actors, made of paper
Like chameleons as soft as the sea.
We morph like spirits in search
Of emotions which unfold
Like pleats of the sun’s silver hues.
At the waking of her brow
We toil like snakes, scorched
To bend the shapes of our skin
Till we cry waterfalls to beat the bones.
I am the player of these words,
A knavish sprite with wilful mite.
Creating the mischief like
A thief-in-the-night, under
The eyes of sinister skies.
This impish puck bound
To Oberon ,to whom with
Smiles of seas he flows.
This world where men speak fire
And dreams are but clouds.
We holdfast to the vision in our blood
That murmurs a tune of nectar swept strings.
I am but a boy, with a passion
Like a caged nightingales kiss.
Monday 1st September, 2008