Medley

Inhale

the aroma of exotic dishes

the fumes from the cremation fields;

the fragrance of flowers in the garden

and the smoke from the crimson streets.

Lose the music sheets

Old tunes evoke memories

Rehearsals numb.

Don’t name the symphony

it is ours

we take the euphony back to where it came from

we take it home.

The aroma was from our kitchen

The fumes from our ancestral fields

But the smoke from the crimson streets

Harass the fragrance of existence.

21 November 2007

Note: Please do not use the content without my consent.