Title: The Flute Player
Author: Heather P.

There was the one legged flute player,
Who stood upon the long shore,
His arms held high,
Praying to some exotic concept of God,
With his music and his lilting voice,
Making me a believer, of sorts.

And as sunset fell around his frame,
His foot dug into the earth,
And his toes borrowed to the sand.
He sang with the stars that way,
The silver flute filling the ripening night,
The sound growing and trailing along the sea.

I would sit and watch him there,
My eyes bright like twilight stars,
With sand in my hair and on my legs.
My white Sari fluttered in the breeze,
And the Sun shadowed my eyes.

His one strong leg,
Held up against the waves,
Which pounded him,
pounding,
pounding,
Against his torso and arms,
But he never faltered.
My heart swelled with pride.

He would always play,
Standing against the sun,
Until the moon came.
Even if the waves would rise tall,
He would only say,
"There is now reason to fall; the waves come to me after all."

Oh, how lovely my flute player would play,
As if it was his only love,
And as if Krishna himself made it so.
I watched with envy,
As his thin figure crashed wave after wave,
But still he played.