Fire Fed Fire a poetic contemplation on the joys of musicality
"Your hand touching mine, this is how galaxies collide." Sanobar Khan
a way to look at shuniya, if you will
At once, with a note composed of brilliant shappiren chord, fire fed fire. And this time, I won’t stop it. Oh. One whose been with water this whole of life, Worshipping wet earth ready to sway into being.
One breath would make it so. One word. A light. A sound. Hold fast but blink first for the rush will exhilarate.
With time, moves of cringe and drumpf become supple jumps, And the rest is history. Suddenly, your heart has a language inspiring enough to speak. And like lock and key, outpourth thee!
Then, the very first ideas, mere fragile wisps, frame an imperious contraption of thought. If given fuel, it could set to calculating a magnificent chorus. But what does it want?
To be heard. To sprawl and reach. To be wrangled as a wily sheep in the pasture. Like life, it has meaning but of what we give to it. Any chord can be music but with no soul no one will feel a thing. Dr. Marley knew what we mean. Man hears his heart in a song, each beat a glimpse of what animates.