Evening Song

 

Someone’s playing a sarangi in the evening.

I go out on the porch and look at hills afar.

The music's touch is soft; its sound, so frail and fleeting.

 

The sharp, nasal sound of the ragas, as if bleeding

In mortal agony, grips my heart. It’s so bizarre.

Someone’s playing a sarangi in the evening.

 

The tempo, the sound and silence leave me dreaming

About my childhood days in the sleepy bazaar.

The music's touch is soft; its sound, so frail and fleeting.

 

Sipping the bitter, black coffee, I brood, leaning

Against the wall. I swallow my grief, and what's more—

Someone’s playing a sarangi in the evening.

 

A gentle breeze rises and meets me; with seeming

Coldness, I try to caress the song’s seamy scar.

The music's touch is soft; its sound, so frail and fleeting.

 

Darkness enters my soul’s deep core; I stand heaving

A sigh of woe. My memories at last retire.

Someone’s playing a sarangi in the evening.

The music's touch is soft; its sound, so frail and fleeting.

 

 

Bibek Adhikari 





Poetry by Bibek
Read 119 times
Written on 2018-07-21 at 18:26

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ternic2005
beautifully written poem
2018-07-22


Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Villanelles exert an undeniable charm for me, and this one is beautifully articulated.
2018-07-22


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Anintimate poem of a very exotic place and time you must call Home. Bravo.
2018-07-22