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The Song That Was Never Sung

The singer heard the soft smile
Of the capricious summer breeze;
As she embalmed him with the warmth
Of the promises in her embrace…
'Sing me a song, ' she asked
'A song as beautiful as the birds
Who know no taste of captivity...
A song like the unexpected vagary
In the mood of the playful tides...
A song as serene as the melody
In the first cry of a newborn...
A song as beautiful as the painting
A blind artist desperately tries...
A song as endless as the sky
That gets enkindled with orange and red
By the patiently setting sun...'
The singer's smile showed his promise.
In search of such cerulean melody
The lover, young, embarked upon;
Hundreds of days he spent living
Deep in the veils of his colourful dream;
Their lives had branched; but he knew
She would be waiting for the song.
Summers and winters, autumns and springs
He basked in their shades with joy;
He sang with every fallen leaf;
Until one chilly night he saw
The most beautiful face of music;
The melody of heavenly placidity.
He walked back, surviving all
The wraths and smiles of nature alike
And reached the same riverside, old and weary,
But found her absence staring back.
Her name he cried out loud
Till the tides paused to watch;
But there was no answer.
Like a childhood dream she had effaced
Pushing all the small stories
Together, into an unprecedented obliteration.
He knelt before the flowers
Who were witnesses to the promises.
The winds were the same;
And the tides like known faces ;
But the singer never sang his song...

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