I am an instrument of many colors, sadly out of tune…
My strings are made of fruits--not those of the loom.
I’d love to play for you a heartfelt symphony
But I’m afraid it would turn out to be quite a cacophony:
My base chakra never turned to red,
Yet, it did slightly blush due to many tears shed.
Looking one up the scale, this too will blow your mind:
Instead of the orange that you’d expect to find
In a plump and juicy ball of Ocean Gold,
You may, painstakingly, detect a shriveled ball…
And on it goes with the other citruses:
My lemon is lacking its citrine fire
And the lime of my heart is unfulfilled desire…
But here is not the end of my discomfiture:
No blue in my berries, and my plum is a prune.
On top, you would expect a Diamond Light
Or at least a cherry, in which I would delight…
Ashamed and embarrassed by such a fiasco,
On my knees, I go down, my head bent in sorrow.
May help quickly come from above.
The Sun rises,
Warming my whole being with its myriads of rays,
Enshrouding me in its rainbow colors,
And ripening at once all the fruits of my soul…
Restoring all my strings to full harmony.
Anyas Spencer, November 27, 2009, Medford, Oregon