Thelonius Monk, 'round about himself

carlosfleitas@netgate.com.uy

Monk walks slowly with short steps towards the piano.
Outside, The Village climbs the summer midnight gently and quietly.
While Monk walks slowly with short steps towards the piano.
His eyes are far away from faces that stare at him waiting
the music he seems to forge from nowhere, from a far neighborhood,
that he and only he knows, in his lonely travelings
across twists and turns of an untamed mind.
Unexpected Monk, circling 'round about himself once and again
balancing and moving like the shifts of a wild flying bird.
Unknown Monk, to he himself only acquainted,
hidden behind the masks of bizarre gestures and attributed madness.
Standing alone in the dark paradise of invention, rhythm and bebop.
Roving Monk, lost as a child in a forest of enchantments
with ancient pains in his soul that haunted him since ever.
Dim whispers he heard coming from the outskirsts of midnight
setting him apart from all of us, tossing him into his own center.
Silent Monk, trying to break through the gates to liberation,
reaching the hills of joy and everlasting freedom
in the outburst of his rough, tender and bopping crowned music.


Carlos Fleitas
carlosfleitas@netgate.com.uy