A Gypsy’s Song
A Gypsy’s Song
I peered through the ringing trees
Covered in a crying lament
A dancing exuberance, a rolling garden
A stage carved through nature’s vicissitude
A man dressed in rags and melodies
With bloody fingers, caressing his guitar
His voice was pure, his heart was golden
Angels sang through his humble tears
Oh earth, my mother, my bread, my wine
I am nothing, I worship your sweet command
Use my submissive body for your holy chants
Use my being and direct my tongue
Serve my soul to the Gods at the table
I’ve little to give, so give it all
If one lyric is baptized by the ungodly
Send it back, it has no purpose with them
The man was an instrument of heaven
In his rags, he sang with a golden dignity
A pauper amongst all kings and nobles
Music is music and nobility is nobility
Night is night and day is day
Social status has nothing to do
With the ear of the heart
This poem was featured in "Poetica Magazine."
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