The Muse

 Sleek polished wood, horse hair strings

"brand spankin' new" my father said.

This little toy would be my muse

In the years yet not here,

But did I know I had in hand my greatest escape? no. 

Note to note I learnt, let my soul dance across the strings

My fingers worn and torn in red

Yet my heart refuses to surrender to-

the distress I felt upon my frame

It is nothing compared to the pure euphoria 

That lights up my soul with joy as I play.

Just so young, I was

Had not yet seen the horrors of the world, but 

to me,

It felt so grown-up that I was writing tunes from what I called pain.

Oh, how little I knew!

A decade I step,

A bold twenty I am and I have now seen what the world looks beyond my control

I still dance with the notes,

And play hide and seek with the tunes i built from my pain but-

My hands run over the ivories of the eighty eight,

While my muse lays forgotten in the dark.

What a hike this has been. 

~Chenu 💗

Sing, my little violin. Sing in the dark.

The captured ivories of the eighty eight.