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The Drummers
Made
aware of the rhythm of my pulse,
my
movements follow a distant beat.
As
I listen to the drummers of Ramadan,
in
this, the afternoon's winter-heat.
I
look down from my be-railed perch,
five
stories from the stony ground.
The
empty landscape, full of dreary city
is
made a seething sea, by the beats and their sound.
My
mind colours all that i do see,
and
the dreary sight of every morning,
wears
today a different, deeper shade of life,
as
I feel like the drummers, drumming.
Why
the drummers beat their drums,
'til
blood from their fingers is drawn,
is
a thing of feeling and not of any reason,
meet
not my explanation with scorn.
But
we are all part of a whole,
party
to the excesses of emotion and feeling,
descendants
of a puddle of slush,
we
are all humans, not creatures of reason.
and I think, so are the drummers of Ramadan.
~ -Mehrab Modi ~