by Ashvin Mistry
She broke a feather on an evening spring,
across the string with a ticklish swing.
across the string with a ticklish swing.
Melodic notes groaned taught in slumber,
dream't whispers of silent expectancy
with seismic climatic intensity.
Held in captivity,
captured by memories,
a delicious coalesce,
for my waning questioning sanity.
Entwined in flight,
bound by my thoughts,
as each note played it's beckoning part.
To make it weep so, with an idle stroke,
a joyous fling to a coaxing heart,
and send a rhythmic call alas I hope,
to draw me near into her grasp.
