Our lives are like a piece of music.
There is a beginning, a middle section, and an end.
We are co-composers of our lives,
and choose many a beautiful melody, and often
there are discordant passages, which mellow and become more mature.
It is all one creative effort from start to finish.
The music can be cut short with abominable violence.
Unfinished symphonies there are in the millions.
And our music harmonises with others
to produce something grander and more beautifully complex.
And our music jars with others, and we have to learn
that all composers are different and that we are all
fairly rudimentary in our rhapsodies and ensembles.
Once in a while we manage to be in tune
with some unknown and more powerful
musical inspiration which transfigures our
paltry notes into majesty and genius -
though short, they mean everything.
When the music stops there is complete silence;
which ends abruptly in thundering applause.
Bravo! Encore! Bravo!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks for your insightful comment :)