This is a poem of my grandparents’ meeting. Of their love for music and their love for each other. My Ajji was a beautiful damsel. She had the most giving nature. My Ajja was a handsome young man who had no money in his pockets but who was rich with the currency of love and warmth. May their souls rest in eternal peace, and may the flutestrings ever be resonant in their being.

When the notes of his flute,
reached her ever yearning ears,
she tiptoed her way to him;
And while the sky was blushing;
And while the animals were returning home,
the soil beneath her feet was light as dust,
His bird song for his mate,
laden with the heavy artistry of love;
Their song, that brought them together;
That made them forget and give up,
this world;
Sway enraptured in the heart of the grove,
where trees grew disproportionately huge;
Silken leaves rustled in the lightest breeze,
fragranced petals flew as if by magic;
And there was so much music,
heartstrings were pulled;
In such quiet melodic meetings,
there were no words exchanged,
only garlands of marigold,
in the secret meeting,
of eyes, that promised each other everything.

© soulreserve 2015

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