Gardening the Bhutanese Way

Saturday, March 23, 2013

The Sweetest Melody

 Here is this poor girl!
With nought but a purse.
With tremors in her fingers, tears in her eyes, accelerated beats in her heart;
Does she lift a paper, a paper embedded in the folds of her velvet purse.
This does she unfurl,
The paper in the realms of its four immaculately folded corners,
That enveloped a photograph of him.
This does she gazes at unflinchingly,
Gazing at the lips that played the blissful tunes,
The lips that motioned into varying indentations
To produce the sweetest, yet the saddest melody;
The lips that uttered the sweetest words.
She gazes and gazes and gazes…
To her heart’s content.

O’ my man!
The flute you played,
Had chilled my spines,
Activated my tear glands.
Melted and sealed my heart,

O’ my golden-lipped man!
The flute you played,
Took me to the serene foothills of the mighty mountains.
Thy sweet melody, the source of warmth on this wintry day.

O’ my sweet tongued romance!
The sweet melody still lingers,
In every crevice my brain possesses.
Thy blissful tunes, the seed of my bliss.

No comments:

Post a Comment