Notes Poem by maya maini

Two three or four,
low high or core.
The notes make some sounds,
reaching to the depths of the soul.

There is an ache,
which I'm hardly wont to explain.
I feel and hurt,
and this will be till I meet.

This is on my side,
there is no other.
There is a blank,
like nothing ever happened.

To whom can I tell my tale,
of love unrequitted.
So common, so simple,
could be that of you or me.

Yet there is no hate,
of what goes on in this
what we call the worldy desires.
let them be; let them be; let them be.