The Flute

The slender bamboo shoot

Had small holes in her,

She felt inadequate,

Imperfect

Unlike the other reeds 

Who were smooth and glossy .

A little boy had picked her 

Up from the muddy earth 

Where she had lain Feeling sad and sorry for herself.

As night set in,

Dinner done,

And in the hour where 

Everyone does nothing,

The little boy took the slender bamboo shoot

From his pocket.

Quiet streets greeted him

His melancholy at Nothingness happening,

Drove him to put the shoot to his lips. pretending

He was a Bollywood Star, cigar in mouth,

Acting out scenes he Hero worshiped.

A stray kitten Stopped to stare at him

 Hoping for a crumb or two 

Or even a belly rub .

The boy suddenly blew into the reed and out came a strange tune.

He stopped .

The cat sat down to listen,

So the boy breathed into the reed again,

And the haunting

Melodies filled the silence of the night,

Filled the empty street With enchanting music!

The reed poured out her

 Sadness and even the feline was enraptured!

The little boy changed the tune 

A zippy one,

And the reed, who knew not that she could be happy too,

Sang with gay abandon!

In the Masters hands we Too can know

 That happiness is Being yourself 

With or without holes!

We don't need an audience 

To applaud

Even if it's a little Kitty cat

 Stopping by for a belly rub .