A punch on the face of music, By a mind which is a cynic, Broken tunes with a rhythm, Despair drains to a bottom, Money and music saunter, Henchmen and touts wander, Cacophony enters the den of din, Distorted tunes are poured in, The mind is in a foul smell, Violence, rape and death knell.
But music is a fantasy, When tunes are an ecstasy.
A poem from ‘Serenading Poems Part One’
