- Books, Literature, and Writing
My songs are for you...
how many times you said
You played the musician
touching and tendering each string of my heart.
You meddled with music
each key and each tune
fell prey to rhythmic skill of your hands...
Dancing at the brink of your agile voice
each verse was ambrosia
shaped by your tongue.
It spoke of my charms
my raven hair.
But why…. O Musician
why didn't you sing for the fire in my eyes
why didn't you feel an ambivalent breath,
cropped up behind the spectator's facade
why was your serenade scant of my love
why didn't your tunes rhyme with my pain...
Maybe your music was never for real
maybe your songs...
not meant for me at all.
© 2015 Sara Sarwar Riaz