In the crepuscular half light, under a tree he stood
With an endearing smiling face, in his hand a flute
Closing his eyes, upon it he gently placed his lips
Along with it, he tenderly moved his fingertips.
Silhouetted beneath the rising moon’s ethereal light
As he played, symphony of melodies it did ignite.
Oft I saw him there, a man I knew only by sight
Breathing mellifluous tune, I was hypnotized.
Then, enchanting with rapture the evening magic, everyday he passed by my door
Casting out his serenade, perhaps for a year or more.
I started waiting eagerly for his warm instrument a calm fragrance to emit
Expecting to see his shadow in the slanting moonlight.
I stood captivated, transgressed ‘n transfixed as he breathed poignant tunes there
Sans logic, sans reason, my feelings merged into tenderness rare.
One day, unable to resist the irresistible, I ran to meet him
Only to find his flute lying, like the wisp he disappeared it did seem.
A tug at my heartstrings, I slowly ‘n scrupulously picked up the flute that he did play
Today as I bring out the valuable treasure, it speaks of a never to be forgotten lay
Memory takes shape, music takes form, serenity prevails within
As I visualise the Flautist with his happy tune so rhythmic and enchanting.