A Pilgrim of Infinite Bliss

Unto the passing lights and evening hues,

Unto the timeless waves of life,

He plays the Piccolo of melting tunes.

Against the sinking sun and the waking stars

He follows a matchless piece

And gently drops it among the passersby.

 

It is a quiet eve’ and a pleasant riverside.

There, in search of a square meal,

In search of a comfortable night,

The Piccolo player opens his amorous strings.

 

He is serene as the stillness of the scene.

Among the many lanes of the town,

He is a chirping bird; an endless wanderer.

He has crossed umpteen hills.

 

Presently, I see an old couple wipe off their tears.

Away to the shores of yore

They are swept by the wholesome music-

They are in the cradle of whispering winds.

 

A Pilgrim of Infinite Bliss - under the starry dome

He weaves his unpretentious dreams.

Late into the eve’ till solemn hours embrace,

He opens his cascades of lore

And emptying his richness, now with a richer heart,

He withdraws into the womb of silence.

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