Organ And The Lute Poem by krishnan s hariharan

There in walkway, behind the shacks
Lay this small organ.
Green and blue of cheap plastic bought from a local cart.
Broken beaten and dusted, may be once
Flowed out of it a soothing note.
Maybe some one played it and a little girl danced.

Thoughts of camphor bring back notes of a certain lute
Fastened by strings of an anxious heart, and tuned by hope.
Once a drop of blood was spilt and lies within the lute
Dusted, like the small plastic organ.

On it I had played many a tune in anticipation
On forlorn evenings that notes might reach
My love among faraway stars.
Some romantic and some soulful
On ecstasy of an imminent union
On loneliness and despair of separation
And man did reach stars, world wrapped around,
Just to realize the astute geometry:
That it’s flatland.

Like the caterpillar growing fat in a sapling
Now it’s plastered to the road
With twig and tasty shoot.

And lute continued to play
Petty tunes screechy notes
I saw all of them playing to themselves
And waiting for applause.

Lute still plays loud and clear
Amazing notes in a wine tavern
And swirling around with it,
Are hoards of sensuous belly dancers.

Out there power is possession
And possession is love.
It is cradle of passion
And crypt of love.

Lute continues to play on and on
Onward sky ocean and beyond stars
And melts in emptiness that lies beyond.
Notes have no sorrow, some say hollow
Notes, vibrations on emptiness
That lies beyond stars.