Chopin is something where always true love exists
Blooming within the truth and lie.
All the songs that I heard till now
All bound to fall timely or untimely.
But then only Chopin remain
Withstands against the all odds,
And ask, will you go back to Renaissance?
Intend to destine to Baroque?
Or tend to moor into his Romantic!
Where Louisiana always spreads her hand out
And drags me to the woods.
The scatter notes of jazz
Turns out into the outright trivia.
Chopin, I can’t play your Nocturnes anymore
Perhaps, it is too late
To moor up in your Island!
6th October, 2016