The Instrument
The instrument watches in awe, Beauty that transcends the human law, Being channeled through its modest reed, Filling every gap, satiating every need. The flautist playing the blessed flute, Renders it drunk and mute. Love drenched into the music the flute drowns, Amazed and struck by the rich deep sounds, From its own body wafting, Unable to comprehend the sublime grafting, Only one truth the simple flute knows One seed, its happiness sows: Not in itself lies the music but in its player, Unmoved by praise, it lies quenched in prayer. - Anahita Sanjana (India)