It pumps through my veins
It comes from what we feel.
And it’s must  be somewhere,
the original melody.
Where we feel it
Somewhere inhuman  nature,
hidden deep in our hearts.
Where we sense it.
Is it in the furious infinite of culture,
and emotion,
where we imagine it?
In the distance of space,
a star’s orbit.
Or is it in the Sun’s scornful gaze,
or in a tiny camellia flower,
in the sway of the trees?
In the first heartbeat a child hears?
The mothersong that rings throughout the body .
Maybe it is in the tears and sobs
of the happy and the heartbroken.
Because it must be somewhere,
in all the wonder and myths.
Somewhere in the original harmony
it must be found.
It must have come from something
great.
For how else could it infuse
so naturally with the human soul.
O this music.
Woe is my soul,
for I cannot find the mother,
of harmony,
nor melody.
Where art thou?
For I yearn with my curiousity
to see your creator.
For are you just a being?
With no umbilical cord,
to which connects you to your mother?
From where did you originate?
I yearn to know the story of your song.