In oblivion

The violin that used to stream out
The horripilations of the heart as
The cascade of serene music,
Has now turned mute, and speechless.
The fingers that fondled without weariness
The deteriorating strings have
Now become strangled and benumbed;
As a flimsy curtain dropped down
At the end of the festivities of spring time
Like flowers that droops down at midnight,
In the final moment of the final day.

My beloved had laid down her head in my lap
And slept, without telling anyone.
In her final all encompassing slumber;
Where even the shadow of slight tremor cannot reach
And in oblivion and obscurity…