A Tuneful Tone

I heard a tuneful lullaby dancing gleefully

beside my bed,

I was soothed, I was healed the way

the music swayed its limbs,

As if a finger was playing the piano

Or,

Beethoven's spirit was loitering in the room softly.

Maybe, it was the whispers of the dry mouths

That was dumb as a mime artist, silent as a rock, stiff as a cliff,

Still, tossing their heads for a timeless era,

And receiving feedback from listeners.

They were like brown rats

Who did not want to get trapped in a net of words,

Fleeting and flying and rambling and fleeing to the spot A from where they had started their wanderings.

A tuneful lullaby was it not,

Not a whisper of a dry mouth,

Rather, the visible letters of seven symphonies.

I was in a room of 'sabdos'

Where my heart ached for mild 'surs',

Coming from a distant land, crossing lofty mountains, carrying silicon, dust mixed carbon particles

To enter into a tunnel of an ear.

Neither was it a windy rhapsody,

Nor the fragmented creeping voices of my diseased landlord,

Not an afternoon 'Raag' evoking all the past memories,

Not a rumination on a few Donne's poems

That I had left undone;

Lying uncared, unnerved on the wooden table in my room.

That tuneful 'something' separated my being from the chaos,

From my own entity,

From the hustle of recent news of the fire in the lung of the world of forest,

I missed the train,

I missed my presence,

That tuneful 'something' made me frantic.

Asleep, asleep, asleep all alone.