Almost Spiritual
Heads nodding to the shadowy tunes,
Phones hovering mid air
Our impulse to get hold of the ephemeral,
the fear of losing on the eve of experiencing
As if a thousand times of playback is worth compromising it
Sharp
Spasmodic beams of light
illuminating a wisp of smoke.
Immersed in the aurora of string, brass and percussion, the airy voice,
when the performer opens a momentary window to his sacred, innermost self
we experience a sensual rapture, almost spiritual
For we cannot worship a religious god
The stage is the pulpit
The domed hall our cathedral
Plastic cups flattened on the clammy floor
Our arms stiff and sore by lifting the phone high and steady
Lightheaded by the intoxicating fluid,
we stare in awe in our Sunday's best