Phantasmagoria

Thoughts…arising from an organized melancholy…

Sadness …which bursts apart into a zillion pieces and imbeds…

every portion of my eclectic walk...

Cello…hangs onto that bass string… going into fits

Violent repetitions of itself … a fugue...

The violin, composed beautifully, defined …

obliged to follow and sing a sad song…

Defined composure’s of one’s body

Not strong, but athletic, muscles… carved out like tender moulds of clay…

Movements …that are made in a split seconds …

…graceful...composed and poignant.

A quartet composing it all, playing in chamber,

rending out music, so violently sad.

And …then it suddenly happens…

in the middle of it all I come in terms with the reality….

…By realizing...

That all the poignancy of that music, all the grace of the lady,

All the sadness of the song, all the allure of the violin…

Was nothing but a concert in 3D... Like Dali’s toreador….

All of it playing…. in my hallucinated mind.