A pilgrim of infinite bliss.

What is the compendium of life to a wayside singer or a pianist? Read this poem.

Unto the passing lights and evening hues,

Unto the timeless waves of life,

He plays a Piccolo of melting tunes.

Against the sinking sun and the waking stars

He follows a matchless piece

 and drops it among the passersby.

 

It is a quiet eve’ and a pleasant river side.

There, in search of a square meal,

In search of a comfortable night,

The Piccolo player opens his amorous strings.

 

He is serene as the stillness of the scene.

Among the many lanes of the town,

He is a chirping bird; an endless wanderer.

He has crossed umpteen hills.     

 

Presently, I see an old couple wipe off their tears.

Away to the shores of yore

They are swept by the wholesome music-

They are in the cradle of whispering winds.

 

 A Pilgrim of Infinite Bliss - under the starry dome

He weaves his unpretentious dreams.

Late into the eve’ till solemn hours embrace,

He opens his cascades of lore

And emptying his richness, now with a richer heart,

He withdraws into the womb of silence.

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06/12/2012

 

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

"He is serene as the stillness of the scene.
Among the many lanes of the town,
He is a chirping bird; an endless wanderer.
He has crossed umpteen hills."

A splendid read and write...I'm enjoying the strings of your melody...Bravo................

[MomzillaNC]

I like this poem very much. There's an almost otherworldliness to it.

BTW: I think you meant "…his amorous [strains]." A piccolo is a wind instrument and has not "strings."