The Song Poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
The Song
The sound settled on our core
Touching our conscious, our self
The body meant everything to us
Metallic music poured forth
From yellow discs in fevered rhythm
As our sepulchral child-egos rose
Our consciousness flapped its wings
We only rise once over the clouds
Our waxen wings melt too quickly
But our memories remain of flying.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
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4/26/2024 5:33:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
