The air had so many tales to say,
Some heard, some imagined, some interpreted.
As much as one sees the life in its glory
Child and the mother, a king and the warrior, a beast or the beauty
The song of desires appears as though one turned page by page
and unravelled those illustrations; sometimes here and sometimes there.
Even the mighty tree with its own branches entwined
With the lush bougainvillea in the background, pink and green
Singing the same song and then temple bells ring
And when they breeze past the ones who lay over the pruned grass
Even the rays of sun takes a stolen peek
The creator was God himself, commands a thousand salutations
For the canvass with the right amount for the correct effect,
Alternated with worldly-wises for perfect education.
For thou who seek more is completely misplaced.
To appreciate would require somewhat half the intention or the skill.
Or just why don’t we let be
Anything said less or more will still be anyhow understatements
PS:My heart bleeds to see the poor restoration attempts which in the next fifty years, world will get to see nothing but a combination of dilapidated original and a grieving fake trying-to-be-old new.
Written on Tuesday, December 28, 2004
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