Death pulled the strings
leaving life unstrung...

Like a gentle breeze,
The bard's fingers stirred the strings
with effortless ease,
breathing life into melodies umpteen,
Which lay dormant in harp's deepest deep
But as the time flew by
The harp-strings lay,
Untouched , unstrung, jarred in pain
while dead silence cradled the notes
The Bard's fingers wander'd seeking
New instruments , a fruitless quest
Of music more wild and grand.

Whilst death sat in the corner enjoying the show,
Watching how life passed by,
Jumping like echo to and fro,
Flowing like Zephyr slow,
Crossing hurdles,
Huffing puffing, just to reach
The very end, orchestrated by
Mastermind called death.

And here I wondered
Who played whom,
Did the bard played the harp or
Was it the harp who plucked
Every chord of the bard,
According to it's wish,
according to it's will
creating a beautiful symphony
With Bard's heart strings,
Until the dust of time
Lay thick on the golden wires,
Until the heart lost its music,
It's voice, until the strings lay unstrung
Losing their rhythm in
Death's silent echoes...

No one but the harp knew his pain,
As the unstrung strings could
Never be tender and sweet again.

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