listening to ragas with mohammed

my pakistani friend says
"in my country, this
music is for old people."

he likes something
with a pop inflection
those western beats,
they must be overlaid.

i say, "george harrison
established, ragas are
for tripping to.
smoke one and listen."

he demurs. that boyish
grin the women
seem to like so much.

he leaning west, me
(i?) leaning somewhat
to the east
yet both of us
archetypal products
of countries we
could never truly leave.

he says, "i feel
like people think
i am a terrorist
when i go into
a pub alone."

his face saddens
for a moment,
then he manufactures
a smile from
the memory of ages

while the raga
builds and builds.


Bobby said…
Hey Bruce. The weekend is here, can you believe it?

If they make you work on Sunday again, I'm going to have to launch a protest on your behalf.

I'm glad I caught your poem here. I can picture the conversation.
Bruce Hodder said…
Yeah, Bobby, doesn't time fly when you're having fun?

I don't have to work this Sunday. I've got an essay to write on the BBC's attitude towards the Underground. I've got more work to do on the new Beat website. I've got MySpace. I've got Blogger. I've got a basket full of laundry.

Work gets in the way of life too often doesn't it?