I sing…. I sing for all the worlds that I see Spread before me In weird sizes, small and large Plastic grass, papier maiche mountains, Men, women and children of wood and mud. I sing for the idols Of gods and goddesses…. I sing for the gods and goddesses themselves, Not just their figurines. I enunciate the Sanskrit words That describe their attributes…. …A funny thing happens. My eyes close, and I lose myself. Am I amongst the dolls in front of me? Am I at the feet of the god whom I praise? I do not know where I am…. I do know….I am in the music. In the notes, the voice, The melody that escapes from my lips. It is my soul, emanating with my breath. I am deep within myself, and everywhere outside me, too. I suddenly see the perfect, ineffable beauty That the composer of the song saw. I yearn for it…. But the song comes to a close. I open my eyes, the spell reluctantly broken. I see admiring looks, faces filled with friendliness, Happy at my singing, compliments flow from those around me. I’m glad I’ve given others this pleasure.. But it is I who have experienced the most joy. I sing….not for the world; I sing for myself. And that’s why the world likes my singing.