We hear a body’s fall ,steeped in melody .The eyes fell in broken strings , their music lost in the winter of its time, in its nightfall.
The glass spread quickly in its stringing eyes.The big black eyes were strung to a fine song,the song of a lifetime, the flow of a generation.
The light grew less in his eyes.
The sound is now ashes, the eyes beads one counted for prayer.
(Tribute to Sitar maestro Ravi Shankar)
The Morning is Just a Dream 
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