Untitled

IT makes me wonder

Of good times:
When an evening
Went by
silent and solitary
When a song
Played along
soulful and yet sullen
Like the melodies of
The Flute Man
Whose song
Revolting and rehearsed
His grief only cursed
By strangers and men
Who knew not
Of his despair then
His song yet grew
Over the neighbourhood's
Wretch and stench
Filling voids
Of other souls and time
Cursed still
Yet The Flute Man sang
And sang
Yet no one knew to the heart he sang.

Of the rains:
A little later then
Chased by evening lights
and swift clouds
The rains arrived
The worry was if
The Flute Man had survived
Everyone looked, relieved
Cursed still some men as
His shanty delicate and damned
Still stood,
everyone confirmed
For we all heard
A song rising
Crescendo disguising
The Man's despair
But Melody couldn't lie
As the Man's Grief
was lucid and asking for relief
He sang along
Even the monsoon's loudest attempts
couldn't drown him,
his song
Which sang to the heart no one knew.

Note. It is inspired from Tagore's Flute Music. A favourite of mine.