Flute Poem


Memory of grandparents, old wood...
I will do my best to keep you
through the passage of ages.
I'll bathe you in oils and resins
as if you were alive,
as if you were not just a memory
in which I put life and breath,
as Arutam do in this moment
in me and now again.

Memory of grandparents, old wood...
the man raised you at the precise moment
and you did not come back to earth.
He carved you and in wisdom found the points
where his breath would sing in your memory.
Harmony of a life
reflecting this world
in sacred beauty.

You, Arutam, 
breathe Spirit into my body.
My life sings
through the passing of the seasons,
that's beautiful.

Your memory, grandfather,
will enchant my life when the man blows
and wakes you up sharing his Spirit. 
Your Scream, grandfather,
which flows through white arts
in hands, fingers and feathers of the Shaman:
Will it bring harmony into my life,
while I observe how I remember

an infinite perfection being harmony only
before my eyes, every day?

Do you Know? The trees sing.
I never went to study
where that melody came from,
but they sing.
It's so beautiful they bear the hardest barks
but they keep the sweetest blood,
whistle between their leaves as sky, cloud and light...

Have you ever heard the rainbow singing?
I saw it, it was a spirit,
but without clinging fingers:
thousands of threads of light, clouds and sky
who danced in the wind in immeasurable beauty.

So tender, I just relax and learn.
I called them: feathers.
And I learned to jump off,
to turn fear into the powerful stimulation
releasing power.
I found the confidence.

Now I sing my song and play my flute,
but I listen to my Masters,
in eternal enchantment.