THE FLUTE PLAYER
(Based on a true story)
The noose lay around the prisoners’ neck,
Mind racing ahead of the crime on his shoulders,
Of the crazed young drug-head and musician that he was;
Soon it would be over.
His religion taught
Of hell’s torment for eternity
He also knew of the prisoners’ Last Request!
He called for his flute.
The warden’s eyes widened,
The prisoners request was always respected
Provided it was within reason.
This magical friend in time of great need
Whose music would accompany him, sustain him
Even unto hell itself.
He was calm now as he put the flute to his lips.
He drew in his breath,
Paused
Then gently blew beauty out onto the calm, clear air,
And into the ethers; it soared above and around the ears
Of all that heard, prisoners and prison warders alike,
Beauty of such clarity, such sweetness that it scattered all before it:
Above his head and out of the little room
Where he stood on the scaffold
The noose still draped around his neck
As he dipped his head forward
To play his flute!
It melted the hearts of the parents
Whose son this drug crazed flute player had killed!
And when the music was at an end,
When the silence roared,
Then the tears came.
They - the parents - had a change of heart
And pardoned him, this young flute player,
As was their right in that far eastern country of Iran,
As was their right to do so!
| 
