The Musician

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.