written by: Shruti Das
Once more I am falling in love with music.
Once more I am drawn into the web of words.
The Sorceress has tingled my senses
with a Neruda and a Rumi
throwing me from one trance to another
making me stare at dark Othello’s venom
and Desdemona’s dirty kerchief
while a lady friend breaks into song.
Was I destined to wash it centuries after?
Was I destined to throw nervous glances over my shoulder?
to fall into snares of soft sensuous whispers
that creep along with unheard footsteps?
Once more it is my mother’s blood
that is flowing out of my reluctant fingers.