I have six fingers on the six strings.
Devastated, numb and trembling fingers
are grasping for a rhythm, for a pace,
but the strings are in mistuned race.
Everyone is singing around,
and they have a sly gaze on my fingers,
urging for a tune, for a tone of divinity,
but the fingers are static
by Satan’s insanity.
The audience strikes me
with their blank vision.
The shame cuts my heart out.
I bleed, I scream, I gasp,
but the fingers are still silent.
Suddenly, like a blow of epiphany,
a voice rises from red and green
telling to leave the six strings,
and put my finger on the ONE,
the string of all music,
the string of our existence.