Photo by Victoria Borodinova
Switched onto the Radio
what seemed like eons ago.
All genres of music came
gushing out from that
blurred-memories beatbox.
The sound waves thumped
and clanked wearing romanticism
ironing out my silences.
Some sound pollution
curing cancers.
After the quaking of
my peppy senses
it went into an hollow
tunnel blowing echoes of
rustling-music and
I, chiming in its melody,
ignorantly compare it with the
plastic lyrics we are
fed these days
in the platter of
scarcely-claded bodies
and phony hearts.
What a brazen
attempt it was,
of writing
heart-slaughtering
brain-stopping
golden lyrics in the era before.
It played
“Bade ache lagte hain”
The curse of my good
memory suddenly appears
as a blessing with the
old songs committed
to my lips long back.
My waist sways,
lips croons,
pupils dilate
and voice purrs
along the
musical sonnets.
A safe haven
for the cry.
It brings back the
old musical wizard to
his high-pitched imagination
and I tune into
‘My Universe’
one more time.