The little God of flute

This little God of flute, ours, stood there

Waiting on the hill for us in orange sun
A middleman had kept him there locked
And it was when the sun decided to set
He had set him free for us to eye-contact
And listen in our eyes to his bamboo flute
Of fine music played in dancing fingers
As he plays it on the banks of the river
When a primordial girl-friend closed eyes
In moonlit rapture, as the moon up there
Swept across the ripples of the night river.

The hill was where the cows chewed their

Soft rapturous cud under, the hill of cows
As the flute played in softly closed cow-eyes
And the milk flowed from their udders softly.
Then the little God lifted the hill on finger
So the cows can safely chew their soft cud
Safe from raining gods of thunder- lightning.

The little God of flute played exquisite flute

Behind our eye-lids as our little son with eyes
That never grew to the man of world in pants
And no chit of a girl took him away from us.