Thursday, March 13, 2008

The Musician

Heavens sang in rains as he played the flute
The musician at the restaurant
Between sips of cold beer and corporate snippets
We listen to the songs of words we knew in our hearts
His flute had a bead tied to it
And his eyes sang of a pain forgotten yet not gone
His hands on the flute spoke
Of a dream divine afraid to be spoken about
All that mattered among loud conversations
And alcoholic illusion of an evening’s celebration
Was a music, that flowed in slow motion
He sat there not a part of many faces
And yet was the unwitting backdrop
Not seen and yet
Filling each iota of space with his soul
The nameless flute player who made the evening
precipitate to a flight of fancy of choice
Listen to the waves of love for the blue one
Of chains of bondage turning gold
And in each piece he played a story only he knew
Yet shared with any soul


Anonymous Anonymous said...

i can almost hear the music. this is beautiful........

March 25, 2008 at 12:34 PM  
Blogger R.E. said...

i'm not a poet.... i wish i was though.... you have a good flow though

April 19, 2008 at 4:58 AM  
Blogger R.E. said...

i admire those who can write in verse - especially unstructured verse and still keep up with prosodic flows. good stuff... guess ill be back soon!

April 19, 2008 at 5:01 AM  
Blogger Rush said...

i like your poems

July 15, 2008 at 10:06 PM  
Blogger sahyadri said...

Thanks every one. Its been a while since i got to this page.... I promise to be back with something very soon.

July 19, 2008 at 11:23 PM  

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