For long I have been
Waiting and anticipating and
Humming your
Tunes of white and
Tunes of black
That eclipse the disconsolate
Spread over the unkempt vale
For long, I pondered...
The ostinato you make me hear
How do your fingers of brass play so fair?
And when will it disappear?
When will I grace the signature?
Not made of ivory, nor of gold
A black star cast its shadow over the fold.
And will I ever witness
Finally, the maestros' crescendo?
No reply came but tunes fluttering in the wind
The ancient language always indecipherable
The feeling felt and the
Chirp, already deciphered
YOU ARE READING
Rhythms From a Quarter Life
PoetryI will die the very moment this poetry collection is complete, not a moment more, not a moment less. Yet, what worries me is not death but never being able to complete this poetry collection. These are the rhythms resonating from a quarter-life.
