waking up

flute seller

I have been watching films.


Living, sulking, spending, brooding.

Christmas, New Year.

Comings, and going away. Travelling, being nowhere.

The clamor did not bode well for melodies.

I stayed away from the computer screen. It demanded too much coherence.

I felt flimsy.

This morning, then, there is a tune.

I don’t go to the window to look for the flute-seller.

It is enough that his music reaches me on the 13th floor, despite the insistent growling from the highway.

Maybe someday I’ll meet him on street-level. Maybe I’ll be bold enough to thank him for wandering our streets.

Maybe I’ll say nothing. Maybe he’ll know anyway.


  1. Welcome back. It is so nice to have you back and read your moving lines. They never fail to touch a chord in my heart.
    Thank you! It is always a great pleasure to read your postings!

  2. Like one of your earlier comments, I too heard the music in your words. Feels good to read words which capture the mood simply and clearly.

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