He made the rivers flow down
And saw it had neither rhythm nor a single Pulse
He saw the trees sway
But too silently – without any Grace.
The Nightingale sang its morning song;
And forgot the Pitch somewhere.
God looked around and found
The wind chimes in disarray.
The Keys all Flat and strewn away.
Soh he took a Root, and with a Bass and a Beat
And put it in a womb
Tied a Chord, and a Note
In his little hands– to bloom.
And waited Fah his magic fingers to roam
On every Keyboard- in every place – in every Range and Tone.
With His magic touch, music filled the universe! That rare gift of melody is shared by some infant prodigies! Fortunate is the one who has the gift of melody in him/her! A sweet poem!
A love tribute, quite encouraging, that Child must feel proud! Thanks for sharing, Roop R. Bhaskar!
Well depicted. Wonderful imagery. Enjoyed. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The dissatisfied musician of a Lord at last finding fulfilment in the potential of a human foetus - I believe that was what you meant. Great imagination and write.