The Fiddler Poem by Manas Misra

The trembling strains of a fiddle I hear,
Tearing through the silent night.
So distant, and yet so near.
The pain of the fiddler I feel,
Scars that never go,
Wounds that never heal.

Is it the longing for someone far away?
Or the unfulfilled feelings,
He felt but could never say?
The touch of those hands in his dreams,
That refused to hold him in life.
When he cried, and no one heard his screams.

Play on, o fiddler, play on.
For pain is your destiny,
And all hope is long gone.