Singing Bamboo

Perhaps there is some truth behind the lyrics "words are very unnecessary; they can only do harm". Why would I say so? Because words are all that ever come from me, and look where I have ended up with all my unnecessary utterances. The question of regret is formulated by some as follows: Which do you regret more-- the things you have said or the things you never said?

We all know where my regrets lie.

One sound less, and I might have been able to keep my life. If I had held my breath instead of cried when the tiger stalked its prey in the bamboo maze, its teeth wouldn't have found their way into my flesh. It was quick. They sank so deep I felt no pain, only my consciousness wasting away. I thought I could sleep forever then, dazed by blood-loss, kept warm by the beast stripping me of my own body.

It was gruesome, it was. But it seemed to relish the tang of my blood and what little meat I had to offer. When it had calmed down to feast on me, I swear, I felt happy. Was I smiling? In my mind, I was, but whether or not my jaw remained, I didn't know. Its breath kept me from the encroaching reach of the cold. It was almost sadistic, the way it teased me with the fire of life, reluctant to let me be embraced by the shadow of death. Does a live prey provide a heightened dining experience? If only tigers could speak.

How could I stay alive through such torment? It wasn't up to me. It kept me from sinking into the ground and made sure I wouldn't grow as a demure shoot. In the faint luminescence of glowing jade marbles, I saw a colourless lotus shed its petals into a pond. With each ripple, a deep growl echoed. The whistling bamboo hummed me a prayer as the echoes from a blurred vision passed the threshold of reality: this is your punishment.

I couldn't cry anymore because I had already done so the moment fate let go of my hand.

So I lay with my guardian, my tormentor, listening to the bamboo sing.