• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 10

Desert music

The silhouette against the heaving desert
With sparse vegetation and no footprints
Visible on the shifting sands;
The only human figure framed against its immensity
A little shadowy being, gender not revealed by the visual
That captures the subtle dualism of wilderness and kinesis;
The tiny guy carrying a guitar and a whole universe within those strings
And talented fingers that drum out magical notes out of that instrument;
The tilted guitar, phallic, extended
The silent arm at rest but poised delicately
Ready to strike at any minute in that hostile landscape
Almost friendless, scorched, a timeless graveyard of
The lost wayfarers and of fabled Ozymandias
The indomitable gypsy sick of civilization and its sins and hypocrisies
And brutalities,
Searching perhaps a buried trail that led to some El Dorado once,
Or some dusty ruins that still haunt in dreams on solitary nights;
Alone, yet not intimidated by the vastness, in elements with ecosystem,
Strumming his fave guitar for the spirits of the desert eager
For this rare concert by a travelling musician
An artist not interested in riches and awards!