By Malcolm Little Black
I sing for the Ocean, from whose rhythm I draw my inspiration,
I sing for the Sun, her rays caresses my body and give vitality to my bone;
I sing for the Stars, the gallant soldiers guarding the night sky,
I’m a Pipit, and singing is my hobby.
I sing for the Tremors,
The Tsunami, The Volcano, the likes…
All that reel out warnings, and sound the Trumpet of the last days;
The friends long forgotten, but forever omnipresent,
The mother nature’s tapestry,
The delicate weaving hands,
The earth Crippers, the Pearl,
Through the song of the Pipit they inhale.
I sing to placate the gods, the fallen Forebears,
I sing for my Mother’s teary eyes, and the showers from heaven;
And for those whose Den lurks in the Wild,
For the Mound affixed with iron tongue,
For the Savannas,
The Meadows,
The Landscapes,
I wag my tail in salutation;
I shall part my Beak with vigor,
I shall give the Truth a perfect rendition.
I do not sing for the Earth-man, his ear never hears,
I do not sing for Vanity, nor would my song last for eternity;
While my voice lasts,
I shall eulogize the Coming Ones – The beautiful work of Art colored by INDIGO –
The would be far-seeing generation, the sharp opposite of the Modern Man,
Then shall my voice cease,
And then shall I fall asleep.
I’m a Pipit, I sing for the World!
