Their Rhythm Divine…

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When their notes touched,

A rhythm divine,

Strolled away,took off from life,

Faces never polished, never pampered,

Dived into a peaceful subconscious,

They glowed with a strange shine,

Raising up their voice to layers of red dust,

Kissing every inch of that land,

Raising it to the hoary banyan tree,

To its leaves, pretending holy on the top,

Raising it to the Gods above,

Rejoicing freedom from ties of hunger,

From belly-born slavery,

Their shrill tone’s on a wavy ride,

Balancing on the strings of the Ektara,

Painting the air around orange,

Caressing every soul by,

Calming down, speaking to the tide,

Soaring up to the skies,

Sorrows were romanced till they went breathless,

Till fatigue caught them tight,

Until they thought it’s time to wither away on soft toes,

They feared a musical burial,

Under the truths of our existence,

Beneath gospels of time…

 

 

Debaroon’2013

(For more on “Bauls, the Musical Minstrels from Bengal and their harmonic quest for Liberation”, you can visit these sites:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baul

http://www.emahomagazine.com/2011/07/bauls-of-bengal-liberation-seekers/

http://hinduism.about.com/od/artculture/a/bauls.htm

http://www.baul.it/html/english_version/baul_english.htm )

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