Somewhere, someone is playing some drum.

The pounding, slapping, hitting,

staccato beat refills the engine of the world of men.

Someone else is fancy dancing, twirling feathered fringe,

food stomping, hip shaking, head swaying beat

breathing life into the world of men.

Someone else is singing, sound flowing,

the breath, like a sunrise, ah ah ah ah ah ah

open mind, open mouth, open throat,

open lung, open heart

opening into the beat

keeping hearts open in the world of men.

 

We, in the world of men

we do not feel the drum

we do not sway with the dancers

we do not hear the song.

 

We live our lives

we have our desires

we work in our garden

we clean our house

we write in our journals

we search

we search

for the rhythm, for the breath, for the song

and still this beat goes on and on.

and still this beat goes on.

Joy Walden @2011