The lady.

Dead minstrel's song

I was once a wandering minstrel,
Singing peans of your love,
I'm not a wanderer anymore,
I don't tread dusty paths under scorching skies,
Neither encourage the wrath of powerful scepters.
No longer care about the cries of my guts or my parching lips,
I neither want adulation or conceited ovation,
Neither thundering applause delights me.
I flow with the wind am not a prisoner of my perspirations.
Flowing with the soul of the universe,
I am now at peace for eternity.

This poem is dedicated to the rebel and very creative Rana mama. He knew no bounds in creativity and I can't write tears paralyse me.


ROFLOL said…
indeed nice one..