The flute has kissed no lips for many years.
A layer of dust has smothered all melody.
Music was my best companion;
She used to wipe out my agony with her ambrosial balm.
Music has taken a self-exile; she will never come back again!
The Everest peak is now her dwelling-place, serenity divine.
Glaciers are melting, deluge and inundation, outcry of vultures...
My throat cannot swallow elixir of life, guttural block,
Overdose of hemlock.
Two tiny hands, ecclesiastical beauty adorned,
Lifted the flute delving time’s womb,
Fountain of beauty of melody, resurrected humanity,
Post-ablution effect of nebula aura.
Barren population, averse to creativity,
Devoid of a congenital part of a novel human anatomy,
Thousands of flying saucers hurtling out of black holes,
New generation after rebirth from doom–debris!
