Mizrab

My index finger hurts like hell
from playing sitar
A sadistic plectrum
called a mizrab
pinched tightly on it
A tortuous tool
George Harrison
likened to having a
weasel latched on your
finger
I’ve convinced myself
the sacrifice is noble
Suffering for my art
Deep grooved callouses
deforming my pointing digit
and I still stink at it
Sitar is a lifetime thing
and I’ve pissed half of
mine away
Whatever
I’m still gonna play

Butterfly

I can master nothing as the
butterfly I seem to be
Attracted to the sweet
nectar of sound
I alight lovingly on an
instrument’s petals
tasting its bounty but
never staying long
Some other flower’s song
will call me and I’ll follow
My hands covered in pollen from
surbahar
guitar
flutes
dobro
mandolin
sitar
doumbek
What’s next?