My song has no words,
it is just a whisper of emotions,
I try to sing it to the world,
but none have felt the surge of warmth when it reaches its peak,
they don’t find it soothing, don’t feel its power,
my recital reflects off the beautiful chandeliers, ancient crafted ceilings,
plush velvet curtains, but never seeps into their heart.
My song is an inner rebellion,
to fight the wrong within and do the right,
it is born out of love for the unfortunate,
it is a melody that flows and carries away melancholy,
it taps on every door to find the one that has lost its music,
some of its notes settle in the niches of broken hearts,
to create a masterpiece.
My song loves to tickle a child,
hear the beauty of an age where the elders prospered,
it doesn’t believe in recreating itself to suit any era,
it believes in going on with time,
and getting merged with the sand, whose sieving had once brewed it.
It doesn’t get tired of achieving little things,
for it believes that desires can never be sated,
they become the dreams that lure us to go to sleep.
My song has its own story to tell,
it doesn’t need a patient listener,
doesn’t need a shoulder to cry its heart out,
it can give you long, dreamless, curious nights,
it’s a soliloquy of a young beating heart,
now if you find it somewhere beyond the horizon,
amidst the stars, beneath the ocean
or in someone who celebrates each day of his life,
you will find the beginning to your own song.
Written by Simmi Shetty