Silence is golden, literally.

The mother of all things democratic or the current source for conflicts worldwide?

They played and we flowed along with them. Brass, woodwind, strings and drums. Mozart’s legacy unfolding before us and caressing our ears like silk.

Passing by random strangers, every day of our lives. So many untouched and unlived moments slipping away. The chance of connection. The probability of contact.

The gypsies came. They came from Rajasthan, the land of color and desert. They played their hearts out and enthralled a spellbound audience. An afternoon that exploded with color, sound and light.

“Don’t look back in anger”, I heard him say.

We walk through these
Musical moods, holding the notes
Of everyman’s hopes

Slivers of sunshine
Divide our shadows
Into queuing quavers

Her leavened voice to our side
Slithers and slides
Through the heavy air

Naked is our core
A collection of sparks
Lit by glowing music motes

Inevitably, our heart strings
Are rooted in this land of
Enlightened enthusiasm