'Find what you love and let it kill you' - Charles Bukowski
|Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau|
Courtesy : The Mag
For a second the world ceased to be restless,
Between the agonies of pasts and present
an unlikely image passed by. It was not
his music, but the silver in his strings,
The ascent of a desirous melody, overflown,
Trapped all hopes, gave them wings, made them flow.
The master weaved his splendor upon the unlikely audience,
The rains continued to totter, upon the stage built by
heavens and heard by Earth, the music was spread,
Between the moments, both the worlds
united in a rendezvous that lasted
merely a moment, but forever in the art
painted and glorified by the gifts of memory.
The rains never stopped, but the drops failed to carry
The glory of the master, and the art in his strings,
They fell blankly upon his face, he cherished
the memories, while his strings were going blunt.
The poignant love have crippled, the tones dismembered,
But fate shall forgive, because it were through the strings
his totems tasted cupid, his ideas met reality,
His prowess embarked its spiritual journey,
And for once his ears were filled with applause.