Song (Traveller’s Poem)


The song that need to be sing, had been sang for the day.

The tune is still flying in the breeze, creating a soft murmuration.

The violin box that remain unopened, lie back at view in prominence.

The band is now scattered, at the cafe, drinking and gathering praise and extra bucks.

The door of the cafe getting open and close, people coming in and out.

The door open, the band master looked absently. A woman in red it is.

The woman also look at him and smiled at him. He also smiled.

The violin box that has been never opened, get open. 

The busy eve street halted; the cafe got empty.

The eve air filled up with a song–never heard of.

The old two members joined in.

The new two members become audience.


3rd January 20–

Read more of Traveller poems.

Posted in Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers March 21 2017


By Sangbad

A poet, an author, a reviewer--in one word I'm a literaturist (means one who is trying almost everything that Literature is made of). My books are available at Amazon. I'm a Bengali, born and raised in Kolkata, West Bengal.


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