A melody flashes of smiling musicians decked with robes of ebony and bows of silver
The phantom of the music glides a little more than a sea away sending shivers down my spine
The bow swishes; the strings jingle; the hand draws a perfect arc
Had i been in Mandela’s universe the hand and strings and bow would still be mine, a long-lost longing for joy and pride
Why is it that opportunities present themselves when we have grasped another?
Why is it that despite having what we wanted
a part of us still yearns to be satisfied?
Let them go, they tell me, the memories and love, until the bow is a bow; the string a string and the music just another dream.
photo credit: Janderson Tulio
Right here waiting, says the cello.