Misty night, oh, the feel;
the highland realms, without grass or fuel.
Fair, the four-course treat just starters;
even that goosebump served in purple linen.
Ah the drops, first my ears;
then the trickle, kisses all the while!
Twilight sky, the crimson blink;
the expanse beyond, bluish gray;
their knot - fireflies, stars behind screens;
and right at Elliots, behold, the prophecy!
A German Jew's number game,
comes true in an heavenly turn;
clock dilates with relative ease,
it's magic, not science my friend.
Feet wet from the milky pool, a mirror;
the river, time and her steady flow,
slowed dreamy by the sea,
and light shows, the plot thickens.
Minds drift east to the glow,
waves spread out in a tantric,
concentric ballet, a hypnotic spiral;
streaking across the grains of gold.
The man - all flesh, heart n beats,
the elements add the sparkles.
Shower, no hurry no worry,
we were drenched before it made its stop.
Maestro, the bamboo wand;
and the spell from the sorcerer's breath!
(I've tried here to give words to the images that went though my mind as I enjoyed flute maestro Hariprasad Chourasia's concert at Elliots Beach last Sunday. The pictures were taken by SL Shanth Kumar, my colleague, one of the best creative photographers in town)
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