The Muse
by January Low
It has been 2 months
2 months since my last performance.
I feel empty, useless and unspecial.
Bright lights, suitcases, jetlag I miss dearly
Red bulls, waterproof make-up, sweaty sarees
Deep heat, sore muscles, fever
selfish room-mates, insensitive room-mates, noisy room-mates
excess baggage, Indian train rides, sharing train berths
diarrhoea, ripped-off toe-nails, prima donna tantrums
Has the muse left me? Maybe temporarily.
Or maybe she’s just recuperating from 17 years of tireless tours
Maybe she’s gathering her energy for another round
Or maybe she’s just waiting to settle down first
Whatever it is, I know that I have the angin
I have an extraordinary gift, and I must never forget that it’s there
I must treasure it like a precious object, a magical object
And when the time comes for me to share this extremely rare priviledge,
I will know. Deep inside, I will feel it
Coursing, surging,
Moksha.
by January Low
It has been 2 months
2 months since my last performance.
I feel empty, useless and unspecial.
Bright lights, suitcases, jetlag I miss dearly
Red bulls, waterproof make-up, sweaty sarees
Deep heat, sore muscles, fever
selfish room-mates, insensitive room-mates, noisy room-mates
excess baggage, Indian train rides, sharing train berths
diarrhoea, ripped-off toe-nails, prima donna tantrums
Has the muse left me? Maybe temporarily.
Or maybe she’s just recuperating from 17 years of tireless tours
Maybe she’s gathering her energy for another round
Or maybe she’s just waiting to settle down first
Whatever it is, I know that I have the angin
I have an extraordinary gift, and I must never forget that it’s there
I must treasure it like a precious object, a magical object
And when the time comes for me to share this extremely rare priviledge,
I will know. Deep inside, I will feel it
Coursing, surging,
Moksha.
