I sing for all the worlds that I see
Spread before me
In weird sizes, small and large
Plastic grass, papier maiche mountains,
Men, women and children of wood and mud.
I sing for the idols
Of gods and goddesses....
I sing for the gods and goddesses themselves,
Not just their figurines.
I enunciate the Sanskrit words
That describe their attributes....
...A funny thing happens.
My eyes close, and I lose myself.
Am I amongst the dolls in front of me?
Am I at the feet of the god whom I praise?
I do not know where I am....
I do know....I am in the music.
In the notes, the voice,
The melody that escapes from my lips.
It is my soul, emanating with my breath.
I am deep within myself, and everywhere outside me, too.
I suddenly see the perfect, ineffable beauty
That the composer of the song saw.
I yearn for it....
But the song comes to a close.
I open my eyes, the spell reluctantly broken.
I see admiring looks, faces filled with friendliness,
Happy at my singing, compliments flow from those around me.
I'm glad I've given others this pleasure..
But it is I who have experienced the most joy.
I sing....not for the world; I sing for myself.
And that's why the world likes my singing.