Selim Sivad was famous for nothing,
energetic, crazy intelligent,
lethargic and lazy, he spurned all work,
in his own way he did work, for he'd sing
melodies to music never once heard.
Selim would sit in a field, no one sent
invitations but a crowd formed, a lark
very high above his head would sing notes
and Selim would interpolate in word
difficult phrasing of ancient birdsong,
work for Selim was play and throngs would form
and follow as he walked home, nothing wrong
save for an inexpressible earworm,
forgotten since childhood, floating dust motes
angle in the window, a certain light,
mites emit time signatures in strange keys,
obviously, only Selim could hear
underwhelming noises of sound in flight,
skies empty of clouds, dharma burning blue,
for Selim heard emptiness in a breeze,
ordinary people, busy with fear
received no understanding from beyond,
noticing nobody else had a clue
of the origin of music and time
the young singer exploited his assets
hungry to escape poverty and crime
in the city and the country, where bets
nobody but God makes in a big pond,
granting Selim amnesty as his bond.
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