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Nothing But Wind

Nothing But Wind


Music the world filled with,
And is God-breathed the melody in it.
Music moves the world around on its way,
And it’s wind in music dwells.
Muse of Music! Let me imbibe thy notes
For sans thee my voice lies half-dead
When my heart is to sing
That
NOTHING BUT WIND is music.

My soul enters the sylvan woodlands-
The abode of musical birds,
And in quest of music haunts every nest.
It’s music that birds chirp,
And I lay my soul on a pasture,
And the chirping of birds does caress my soul:
The cuckoo sings with twain quick notes,
The nightingale babbles with nectarous notes,
The sparrow squeaks with mumbling thoughts,
The throttle bubbles with drizzling thoughts,
All sail into, my soul cherished
When wind turned to music through birds.
Crickets join the orchestra with their wings rubbed the air,
And music flows when their wings flap.
My soul journeys along the bank of musical stream,
Where bamboos rustle when wind penetrates them:
It’s “Bamboo” music breathed thro’ flute,
I learnt the love for music born thro’ bamboo
Perfected with beautiful melodies.
Dwelling on pastures music grows personified:
Harps reverberate at the hands of the shepherds,
Green music born of pastoral spirit join the bleating of lambs:
The lambs bleat and music is breathed,
And the whole of the pastures flutter with joy.
Into deep woods my soul moves,
And lions roar I hear, elephants trumpet,
And ravens voice hoarse notes
When “bamboo” music is tried by machines:
Harp turned to Guitar, bamboo turned to piano,
And music now flows thro’ science -
Science that survives with computers.
When engine whistles I hear music
And train follows it with “friction” music,
Rhythmic beats perfected on rails.
”Friction” music turned to “roar” music
When air-plane has been invented.
My soul speeds up - speeding up
And hears jet engines launch musical roar
Yet perfected by computer technology -
An impeccable rhythm thro’ jets.
My soul runs atop the mountain peak
Where rockets zoom into the sky with “rocket” notes
Blasting off for the stars,
Measured with “light year wavelength”.
Stars roll down with noise and roar,
The universe being filled with “lightning” sound.
Seeks solace the world shrouded with machines…
………seeking solace thro’ divinity
With mantras chanted;
Yet “disco vogue” lingers on earthly pleasures,
And man is belittled by his social excusable sins,
And his society turns to animalism.
Down from the mountain peak my soul rolls down…
The peak that showed me fleeting moments of life.
An inevitable holocaust shrouds the earth,
And a victim with wounds and bruises am I.
Back into the sylvan woodlands my soul runs now-
Into the sylvan woodlands, the abode of musical birds,
And haunts every nest in quest of music.
To breathe “bamboo” music I run,
For I learnt the love for music born thro’ bamboo.
Forlorn! Bamboos are found nowhere.
My soul longs for “bamboo” music,
Yet learns a truth that music is NOTHING BUT WIND.
And my soul is convinced that Wind is Music, and Music is Wind.
Longing for silent music at the threshold of woodlands
My soul now lies.


Muse of Music! My heart sang a truth
That
NOTHING BUT WIND is MUSIC.
And it’s my garland of thoughts presented unto thee.

This verse is penned as the versifier (I) has been inspired by the musical album of Ilayaraja, the first Asian who composed symphony at Royal Philharmonic Orchestra England, whose real genius has not been understood by many. The musical album is NOTHING BUT WIND. He is an Indian.

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