The Four Strings Of Violin

By Sushmita Sadhu

The four strings of violin

Reverberates with the reveries of the purest of sin.

I graze my bow when the sun downs its lid,

And hold on to the pitch until that white rose begins to bleed.

It is raining and raining forever more,

A shower of joy, or did some vengeance pour?

I stare at the sky and am drenched to the core,

O bellowing clouds, this thirst becomes fiercer than before,

Ignite the fire and let the flames soar,

Paint that crimson hue with these sighs soaked in gore.

Just when the clouds thunder, and your agony jumps off the pyre,

Wonder whether I desired a storm,

The sky will rage in hues of flushed crimson

And your heart, like then, will again be on fire.

By Sushmita Sadhu