Do not sing the last song of the dusk,
For the heart still yearns for the
unquenched thirst…
The tanpura strings clings to those forgotten notes
Come as we’ll care for the lost dreams…
The time still grasps the wall, rusted
with the dust
Of ages – I see the clouds play
between the skies
The dark window panes and few spider
nets
Encircling each moment within each
one…
Whilst the wooden chair shifts sides,
slowly!
Two sides between the glasses – and
the
River of hope flows from far corner
into
The stream of thoughtful sound of the
strings…
Momentous, yet crucial, as the musical
notes
Flow from one stream to the other –
building waves
Into each rhythmic senses, a
perception of the swaying
Of the heart beats and the persuasion
of the soul!
The lamp shimmers through the prism with
the rising scales …
Do not leave the glass house with that
false pride,
For I’ve not sung the last notes yet,
for this moment
Is now to fathom and loosen the notes.
My music
Feels the air, lest you not forget the
bond that my
Notes have created in your thoughts
and dreams….
For in mine and yours, the love of music
flows
Slowly, steadily, pleasantly – the sweet
notes
Sung to just you and me…
The farewell notes, written, torn,
pieced; graced!
Rajdeep Pathak
November 6, 2014
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