The conductor raised his baton
instruments to lips
all eyes on him
a sharp intake of
breath
and then….
Nothing
Simply nothing!
Symphonies poised to flow in
unheard harmonies
and not a note was
heard
All that potential
all those dreamed of melodies
sit out there
poised
in some unattainable limbo
aching with promise
but no voice
You didn’t even let me
love you
long enough
to get a good poem out of it
~~ 04/19/2004
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, \ Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit \ Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, \ Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. ~~71, Rubainat of Omar Khannam
Monday, April 19, 2004
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