The ache which had no name
Someone called it love.
The honey which dripped and split
In the earth was called tears.
The mirage with the golden tinge
We called it the imagination.
The bamboo which was cut
And was injured, cried.
And that worthless wooden
Tube was called a flute.
The beautiful clouds wept and
Its color splashed across the sky
It became the rainbow.
And the unforgotten silent music
Which emanated was called the mind.
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