A Gramophone

first_imgA fusty gramophone ,painted in dust, decorated by rust,seemed untouchedby headlong cosmos.When turned on after a decade or so,it retained its evergreen charm,seemed composed and calm.For the old it became an apricity,for the new it became a felicity.The curtains and the wind charmsdanced to its rhythm….The jitters it carried were plenty,but nothing counted,for it was a boon at its seventy…Even the untrained musician,sang his creation.For this time the tired mindsfelt the music and not the noiseFor some it was heartsomeand for some a heartsease…..last_img

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