love, jazz and antiquity ..


mostly i used to play songs of blues,

moody and dull tunes of a recluse’s shelf,

the kind of hazy music that would

sound slow and soothing,

the sort of loner’s tunes that tries

to console the slightly broken you,

that mends your meddled insides

while in those of gloomy and

dull days of vague void,


that subtly looks up to clear out

your inner mess of a weird episode’s

erratic page of solace less solitude,

of a wretched sulking you,

the vinyl from the kind of collection

that would sincerely try to group

together the pieces of your broken heart,

mending the fragments back to

its original shape,


the substance that has the musical antidote

to the mildly poisoned you taking in

the venom of time,

as in the prevailing plight’s harshness,

the crude acerbic sour thirst of love,

yearn for solace,

the plea for the panacea of the

empty inside’s aching vagaries of loss

and solo soul’s darker hues of deranged lineaments.

Its that murky pathos of

a single malt whisky’s blend

intoxicating the sleep less you,

diverging you may be from the times of insomnia

to comfort your broken soul, your sulking insides

to a solace that soothes you with the

air of nostalgia and a bit of love,

reminiscing and reflecting its warmth, feel and its touch.


at times i play the slow genres of tunes

that tend to mirror life’s other shades of emotions too,

wherein the kind of slow jazz which will bring

alive the husky love of piano tunes and

the milder blares of breezing romance,

the music of moonlight kiss.

the music revives the mundane you

to feel the slow rain of a sizzling paris,

wherein the kind of scenes you

could picture with the undulating

translucent frames of low neon,

portrays the season of paris with

people romancing and kissing each other

perhaps the wild lovers of the scenic tryst’s

sensual mood in rhythm and salsa,

the romantic aria,

the poetic tango,

the glistening songs of vista paintings

that tunes the glossy love in rainy paris,

that even scintillates the beautiful lovers

to moods of heaven’s drizzle and to

tango of a wilder sex night ecstasy.


Sometimes i even migrate them to

an all new different world of lovely leisure,

an escapade to that moods of soothing comfort,

a musical embrace like a passionate love affair,

the warmth and care of an affectionate love.

i comfort you,

i console you,

i exhilarate you,

refreshing your insides and

grooving you with

the light hearted sense of endearing romance,

the slow rain of music,

the drizzle of slow jazz,

engrossing you with serene light of milder glitz

that is soothingly affable and apparently adequate,

while glowing you with cup of joy,

flighting you with feathers of love,

and kissing you with the gloss of jazz.


Though i am bit worried when he moves

to his other sophisticated machine

for playing the rest of trendy genres

and sorts of upbeat music,

i know he likes me,

he loves me,

he treasures me,

and i ll sense this love every time

when he slides his fingers over my body,

as he fondly spins my disc,

i know he has a deeper affair

with me and my music,

that irreplaceable place inside his heart,

that unparallel love for my classic

vinyl spin of retro jazz and moody blues,

for my soothing solace and

scintillating rain of music,

on my plates of exquisite groove

and musical antiquity.


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