21:40
Faizan
A Short Play by: Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c.
(The) Triumph of:
Seven Little Angels (In Poetic Prose)
(The play is led by a musical prelude of: EL Condor Pasa, toward the end of which the curtain is drawn, disclosing an Andean grotto, at the foot of a wooded hillside, in a bright sunlit morning. Seven little angels are discovered sleeping. They are tossing about in their slumber and appear a tinge uneasy, perhaps not being able to get into the right sleeping position, heads on top of wings, and legs on top of shoulders, and little bodies crisscrossing each other. During the closing measures of the song, the first little angel awakes, slowly and half ascends.)
First Little Angel
(Lazily)
Who calls my name? Leave me sleep.
(Rising-not being able to go back to sleep)
What is it that wakes me so!
I know it is those imps that give me such awful dreams
I think there might be some night imps around:
They can be a menace. My brothers and sisters stir, and mumble in their sleep, but what can be done, we were born angels, and lost or left somehow in this old grotto awaiting for them to come back; and umpteen centuries, thus far!
(The other little angels, who range from six to ten, --but are of course much older as we now know-become more restless in their sleep.)
Awake! Lest some imp come and bite you all on the toes!
Second Little Angel
(Half lazily)
I was having a good dream!
First Little Angel
(Shaking each one of the other six little angels eagerly)
Awake I say! An Imp I can smell an Imp nearby!
Second Little Angel
(Rising fully)
Nights are sure strange. To be an angel and have to sleep and dream like humans, and fear the imps approach, but we must stick together, save, together we are strong, alone, we are not.
First Little Angel
Oh, yes, yes you are so right!
Other Three Angels
Oh, we agree!
First Little Angel
(The) Triumph of:
Seven Little Angels (In Poetic Prose)
(The play is led by a musical prelude of: EL Condor Pasa, toward the end of which the curtain is drawn, disclosing an Andean grotto, at the foot of a wooded hillside, in a bright sunlit morning. Seven little angels are discovered sleeping. They are tossing about in their slumber and appear a tinge uneasy, perhaps not being able to get into the right sleeping position, heads on top of wings, and legs on top of shoulders, and little bodies crisscrossing each other. During the closing measures of the song, the first little angel awakes, slowly and half ascends.)
First Little Angel
(Lazily)
Who calls my name? Leave me sleep.
(Rising-not being able to go back to sleep)
What is it that wakes me so!
I know it is those imps that give me such awful dreams
I think there might be some night imps around:
They can be a menace. My brothers and sisters stir, and mumble in their sleep, but what can be done, we were born angels, and lost or left somehow in this old grotto awaiting for them to come back; and umpteen centuries, thus far!
(The other little angels, who range from six to ten, --but are of course much older as we now know-become more restless in their sleep.)
Awake! Lest some imp come and bite you all on the toes!
Second Little Angel
(Half lazily)
I was having a good dream!
First Little Angel
(Shaking each one of the other six little angels eagerly)
Awake I say! An Imp I can smell an Imp nearby!
Second Little Angel
(Rising fully)
Nights are sure strange. To be an angel and have to sleep and dream like humans, and fear the imps approach, but we must stick together, save, together we are strong, alone, we are not.
First Little Angel
Oh, yes, yes you are so right!
Other Three Angels
Oh, we agree!
First Little Angel
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