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A Song

I wrote a song today 

A song of color grey, dull and sad 

An irregular composition such as of an eroded riverbed 

It didn’t tell of the starry night 

It was devoid of the sweet smell of roses on my portico 

So heartless was the song 

It went on and on about suffering and hurt 

It was clad as a loser without purpose and worth

I wrote a song today 

It wasn't a song about love and her immoral cousin lust 

Or was it a sheaf on how my feelings have been toyed with 

By those beefy maidens from downtown 

It lacked ceremony and solemnness 

Or the sublime flow of words that rhyme with emotion

Today I wrote a song 

Too desperate to be heard and worshiped 

Its verses spilt out of me in one breath

But the song breathed not as new born songs ought to 

It lay dead and lifeless like a bag of rotten eggs

So I rubbed off the song I wrote today 

Tore up the piece and set it ablaze on the dying candle fire 

It wept bitterly into flame and smoke 

My own song choked me to tears 

Reason why I wrote this piece to keep her memory 

Lest her ghost comes back to hound me

El violinista -- Oswaldo Guayasamin