At Its Root…


When someone plays a flute,

Its not mere wind,

which flow through the holes,

It’s his soul that surfs through,

That creates the melody at it’s heart.

♥ ♥ ♥

When someone plays a piano,

Its not mere tapping of tabs,

which strains the springs attached,

It’s the vibration of the brain,

that resonates with the fingers.

♥ ♥ ♥

When someone plays a violin,

its not mere string play,

which plays with the friction,

it’s the oscillation of heart,

that makes the friction sing.

♥ ♥ ♥

When someone plays a friend,

its not mere relationship,

which keeps it ticking all the time,

its the matching of two waves,

that mends the gap and brings two closer.

♥ ♥ ♥

12 thoughts on “At Its Root…

    • Thank you Devya🙂 You won’t believe how this poetry came into life🙂
      I was reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens and there was a reference where Dickens says he saw a flute player’s wind coming out of those holes.. and there started my poem😀

      Like

    • Thank you SKB🙂 You won’t believe how this poetry came into life🙂
      I was reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens and there was a reference where Dickens says he saw a flute player’s wind coming out of those holes.. and there started my poem😀

      Like

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