Your Melody, My Muse

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I walk towards the vehicle,

all dressed in black.

Bidding adieu,

and hoping

that you are being sent to a

better place.

 

Ballet slippers still on my feet

My feelings are bittersweet.

Etched in my head is

your body covered in peat.

I imagine a life without you,

But that life seems incomplete.

 

Your melodies changed with time,

But from my first breath,

To your last,

I cherished listening to your melody.

And I will always Love you endlessly.

Even though, now all I hear is silence.

 

Grandpa, when you held the violin,

I would ballet merrily.

Because, in your rhapsody,

I felt serenity.

And every time you struck a chord,

you inspired me to take a step,

make move, and ballet across the floor.

 

When I was younger, you would

place the violin on your shoulder

and play incessantly, as I glided across the room.

The time we spent together, faded elegantly,

along with your breath.

 

When the melody of your violin

turned into the jugalbandi of

beeping machines and the ticking of the clock,

you still encouraged me to wear the frock

and dance like a peacock.

 

Your haunting memory causes me

immense pain.

I want to rip these shoes,

Yet I don’t want to make you frown,

but I am held down.

By your love, by your melody.

 

Lisha is an avid reader, writer, and a Philomath, who seeks solace in novels and movies. She is too silent and awkward in person, so she weaves webs of words that sound like stories and traps her readers. She is not a fan of clichés and even though, she is accused of thinking “too” out-of-the-box, she doesn’t believe that there is anything like that. Ideas and thoughts cannot be measured or limited.

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