snake charmer

she begins and it's long. and dark. and it seems to move with a life of its own. it dances and it twirls; a curtsy here, a curtsy there. what compels such tangible forms to draw upon a smile so raw? she touches it with her finger and wraps it around her thumb, giving it the momentum and will to follow her voice. the tunnel of make believe is a place of wandering lore, and as her hair is picked up by the wind, she sings.

like a serpent meandering through the harmony of an arabian lute, her hair hits each note as does her voice. snake charming the masses. even as the gentle breeze slowly dissipates, the form, weightless yet full of volume, is charged with intentions to provide seemingly everlasting serenity. it moves and it reaches for souls.

if she never sings again, my heart will die. my ears will crumble along with the foundation of a faulty brick wall. deaf from the world, my brain will only visit the set under the tunnel in which her hair decides to take on the form of life in which it belongs. lingering in every follicle is the hymn of a talent that stitches a loveless heart back together again.

she, the snake charmer.
her hair, the dancing serpent.
and i, the masses.
i speak for the many masses.

we can never find the mechanism that connects our individual being to someone else's, and i might be wrong when i say that i am momentarily removed from the natural world behind me and brought to heaven when i hear the angel sing. such a mechanism, such a skill. yet, the masses often forget the simplest of tunes.


peace and love,
t.tran