Instruments of gods disrupts the cacophony of crows
dry leaves from bamboo shoots tempted to welcome the musicians
Acoustics rode the chariots of wind
and i breathe in deep
for the air carrying the divine sound
blesses my breath pipe
progressive patterns mock the still breeze
fingers tiptoes on the chiselled melody
webbed in the matrix of talas, reaped by the percussions
strings knead the wood thus weaving a magical ambience
draped in white
angels from vrindavan
shone in the rising sun
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2 comments:
It wakes me up once again to the gleam in an old town!
Give us the colour!
good one
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