He sat there at the banks of the Ganges,
Lost in deep thought - his flute set aside.
And my ears ached to hear to hear him,
The notes: high pitched, melodious.
But he wouldnt play.
I waited. My patience flowing like the breeze.
And the water and him, as placid as the other.
My longing reached him,
and as is snapped out of a spell - he played.
The melody filled the air, it consumed the water -
And I was floating in a pool of calm.
I was the instrument he played.
No comments:
Post a Comment