You suppose that by breaking this piccolo you will
put an end to the forbidden tunes.
You delude yourself.
I will continue to be sung.
And hammered out on drums.
I will seep into the dreams of your children and they shall
wake up humming me
I will fill the airways.
Like baby spiders blowing in the wind on silky parachutes I will
colonize your trees and lawns and gardens with song-like webs.
Your neighbors will whistle me as they walk down the street in front
of your house.
On some Damascus day you too will find me irresistible and will
play me like a CD as you drive down roads to new places.