Man is but a broken reed
So make me a flute
And play
Love songs for the dancing feet
Of firm breasted village belles.
*
On the plain of the reeds
Green growing
Reeds pray to heaven for life.
Rest when death rains from the sky
Plough shares grow spears.
*
There is steel in angry shame
That makes arrows of us all
Death against our death.
It was no time for love songs
Only how strings twang.
*
Now over the plain we spread
Broken, ‘burnt.
But we were not born for strife
So make me a flute and play
*
Not songs of tears
Of longing and lonely time
Play the soft whispering call
Love’s Morning wind breath
Calling to the thrush to sing
Her sweet morning song.*
Let me thrill with the joy of love
With your soft eyes and hot tongue
Pour into me burning love
And I in love live again.
**
J J Puthucheary, 19 December 1958