Striking the chords, engrossed in rhythm
I saw this man, against the flickering lights,
Notes to altar, a voice so feeble
Cuddled in a corner, away from the earthly pries..
Trembling fingers fumbled the strings
As he sang songs of the country
A faint smile shadowed the tears,
Bespoke of lingering pains so many..
In rags his attire and bearded look,
A door of thoughts left ajar..
Money was not something he sought, I felt
Singing away his blues brought his disparities at par.
I stared at him from a distance
His constant eyes never moved
Wrapped in his inclusion, his voice rang in my ears
His eyes had stories beheld
Never to be told...no one to hear..
4 comments:
Beautiful... I mean, power of words is something i had heard of and felt while reading the greats. U are getting there honey. :)
It is the same with each one of us
a different face to show the world
and a one inside,
The truth unaware of the lies,
Deep within us, somewhere we hide.
Oye.......I dont want to say "good".(Kitne baar bolunga).. so expanded it a bit. Well, you think a lot but seldom..... It is meaningful and shows a lot of emotions
So poignant are your thought...
did u actually watch the old man play or are these words webbed into a poem,simply by looking at a picture....
u seem to be mesmerized and have actually made all the beholders of your lyrical ballad,effortlessly enraptured....its simply awesome!!!
excellent writeup I could feel every word
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