El Cante Hondo De Flamenco
Dark Gypsy voices
pierce the brooding
Andelusian night.
And their haunting,
gnarled chanting is
tearing the sorrows
from my soul.
No pain, no sadness
can withstand
these ancient laments,
blazing up in the
sun-tortured mountains
of Espana, where
outcast Gypsies,
long scorned by
sneering neighbors,
turned suffering
into ecstasy,
ashes into diamonds.
And hearing these
fierce, anguished
voices rising
triumphantly now
to the moon,
I can only rejoice
and marvel that
something so sad
can make me so happy.
..............................................................................................
Copyright 2009 Bennett Kremen
Regis
Moorish civilization ...
Espana ...
There's a kind of invigorating
"wind in the sails" thing going on for me here.
I like the spirit of this piece Ben.
Blessings ...