His violin, her piano



the gramophone record stops, as his hands reach for the dusty violin, his heart, wanting his trembling hands, to play a melancholic tune, that melancholic tune, to pour out, emit every single ounce of, the recurring sadness, that keeps engulfing him, into the reverberating strings of the instrument, and merge it to the cosmos, to every atom, to every molecule, to every macromolecule, but would they caress him, would they rub that magic balm to his wounds, that would drive away the sound of the piano, he started hearing as his hands fondled the violin, that hauntingly beautiful piano sound, goosebump inducing, he imagined, his brain traversed back to memories past, those hands of her still playing them, bit by bit, layered over his tune, like a perfect embodiment, the violin and the piano played as a perfect couple, on and on and on, and as tears rolled down his saggy cheek, down, down, through those lines, he kept playing on, his senses, slipping into a deep sleep, he felt this pang on his heart, a sharp pang, but, he kept playing on, there’s no stopping him today, not today, not today!


 

Poet's bio: Somsubhra Banerjee is an IT engineer, working in Munich, Germany, and finding time, rather trying to find time to scribble something every day. He loves the smell of fresh rain and staring into the sky and old buildings. He has a WordPress blog and a literary magazine which takes up most of his leisure time.

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