In an Ashram, halfway up a mountain side
as the purple dusk swallowed up the fading day,
a small brown man, of an unknown age
on an ancient zither began to play.
His one deep set sky blue eye
brooked us with a mystic, mysterious gaze,
this is where I should have stayed
lived out all my mortal days
and his fingers moved like lightning as he played.
His music swept us from our reality
swept us from the Ashram where he played,
where a single red orchid bloomed
the only color in that grey and dusty room.
With each enchanting note,
with each delightful finger stroke,
more of our surroundings began to fade
until at last we were transported far away,
and his fingers moved like lightning as he played.
In a boat built from cinnamon trees,
powered by a sail of woven tamarind leaves
we journeyed down the great Ganges
on a soft misty morning in the spring.
We listened to the delightful songs
that the little blue birds began to sing,
as we sailed down the sacred river
that long-ago morning in the spring.
That is where I should have stayed,
for the rest of my mortal days,
and his fingers moved like lightning as he played.
We stopped along the river bank
and listened to an elephant and tiger
play the piano and the violin.
But I grew uneasy and asked to leave.
because I didn’t trust the tiger’s hungry looking grin.
Once more we journeyed on our way
as the sun began to brighten up the day,
and his fingers moved like lightning as he played.
We paused for awhile beside a jujube tree,
and refreshed ourselves with hibiscus tea.
Little blue butterflies flickered through the lemon sky.
Somewhere, high above us we heard an eagle’s cry.
A troupe of golden monkeys gathered in the trees,
Their gentle voices came to us on the summer breeze.
Soon they began to dance and play,
and their antics added joy and wonder to our day.
This is where I should have stayed,
where I could have lived out my mortal days,
and his fingers move like lightning as he played.
I asked a young girl sitting close to me,
what haunting, enchanting tune is this?
She touched a soft finger to my lips,
then whispered, Moonlight over Marrakesh,
a meditating melody to soothe one’s trouble mind,
and then added, did you know the zither man is blind.
This is where I should have stayed,
where I could have lived in peace all my mortal days,
and his gnarled fingers moved like lightning as he played.
Keeper of the Sword 