Sunday 30 October 2011

Prosaic Elegy

Frightening that the cocoon that nestled me is rupturing..all the persons I have held in awe are bidding adieus..Have they reached the black night of life or have I touched upon the orange sunset and walking on the fallen leaves of autumn in life? It is a feeling akin to being forlorn, solitary since those privy to my innermost and cataclysmic torments, pangs, traumas that come with life are saying goodbyes becoming a blur on memories. They will outlast timeless time while I shall be a forgotten poem embedded in the brood that shall carry forth the burdens of my reflections.

It was his mellifluously euphnonic sounds that enchanted me with satin silken grace and that saw me through many a tumultous phases of life, sustained me through agonies, stood as comforting witness to copious but cathartic tears and were the harbinger of melodious route to life when I started writing the enduring love story in my life. The music remains forever etched into fragile memories as a sweet melody invoking gentleness that comes subdued in the harsh blanket of life; recalled at first beckoning. The renderer of such warmth that travelled from aural to the cardiac finds peace as the body merges into earth while the soul travels into endless space. His songs were coveted gifts both for receving and giving and with his Sajda (Offering) and Mirza Ghalib, I could express all that I held precious - the words, music and a tenor to construct them into a timeless masterpiece. The symphonic notes soothed when the heart ached and rejoiced when it danced. While the dulcet tones will continue to transmit unbridled joys carrying a speck of my love story imparting the history and story of my life to my children who if they care to lend a ear to them, the person will come to my vision as an apparition.

For you, Jagjit Singh, who sang the songs to me that sowed the seeds of love in my heart that I shall nourish unto last. I shall also carry the warmth of your hug in my being as an honored memory till the last breath because only you, the singer of poems, could take another being into your fold with such affection.