The eternal wait
The cacophony of sounds
Pain and mirth echo the sound
Of the primordial bliss
The encounter of the  rubric of senses
To the portals of paradise
Mired in controversies
Between the real and the unreal
Oh what a jest
The same aum was also a sound.

Sell me a violin, mister, of old mysterious wood.
Sell me a fiddle that has kissed dark nights on the forehead where men kiss sisters they love.
Sell me dried wood that has ached with passion clutching the knees and arms of a storm.
Sell me horsehair and rosin that has sucked at the breasts of the morning sun for milk.
Sell me something crushed in the heart's blood of pain readier than ever for one more song.