Bella musica*

Bella Musica*

The evening started thence
With tinkling sounds,
The mob at the pub was agog
Some were tapping feet,
Some stilletos clicked , sharp,

And then, suddenly taking the centre,
Under the halo of the spot light,
She appeared, the violinist,
In red her flowing gown,

People , men of the town, stood up,
As if ushering her,
I just waited at one corner,
Hushed up were my nerves,
Looking at her, her silken hair,
Had she put on extra gloss,
Me thought, after all I her knew,
From her childhood,
She had been always such,
Always smiling ready to perform,
But in front of such a crowd,
Boisterous, would they her value,

Bated breath
Kept me on wait,
few seconds looked like vast,
And there she stood under the spot light,
Just a Beauty , me thought,
Will she blossom right,
I was looking at her,
Light upon her head,

She cast a look,
The crowd, waiting too,
Me was waiting for a cue,
Didn't She cast a sly look,
At me?

Then she took the bow,
Her fingers held the strings,
As if she knew them like knowing
What me thought, my wait, my breath,

One smooth turn of the bow,
One slow tap on the Wooden deck,

The music just there started,
Next few minutes I saw nothing,
Next few moments had I breathed?
Next few moments the crowd stood speechless,
Mummified were they?

She played, she played slow and fast,
Bow her going playing with her,
Her body moved too,

I was stupified,
Again,
I sat petrified,

And she played
Fire with ice
Icy fire.

(*Note: the title of this poem/scribbling is based /inspired by the painting, attached.
#bello: meaning beautiful.)

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