In the corner of an old museum, lay this very old crate ,
With olden golden artifacts, and statues delicate
Inquisitive was I to see why they were of no use
To my pleasant surprise, in it, I found this pretty little “muse”
Dressed in a robe of exquisite fabric, on her head a crown of gold
She seemed to be gazing at the violin in her hand, which, however looked old
The bed she sat, weaved in golden straw, the quilt that lay on it too,
The litte dog that sat beside, seemed to watch her every move.
I looked up here and there to see, if someone was around,
Sure now that I was alone, I swung her up, on the ground
How long had she been there now, I started to wonder,
Only a year or two was it, or many years yonder?
Gazing at her intently, I wished to know her tale,
As also of the sculptor who carved this damsel frail
Which child of Zeus and Mnemosyne, did he have in his mind?
Of all their nine daughters, which one was of his kind?
Was she the one from Literature or Science or from Art?
Or was she just a “water nymph” he sculpted part by part?
Greek goddesses these Muses are, their tales as child, I'd heard,
For source of inspiration they’re known, in myths or in poet’s words.
Why does it feel, standing there , that she may come to life?
Or the silent hall re-sounding, with her violin strumming rife
Would she walk away from here then, to where she’s meant to be?
To the heavenly abode where her heart is, to her World of melody?
And what about the sculptor, the one who carved her charm
Was he still somwhere around here, or had he come to any harm
If only could I meet him someday, for over an hour or two
To hear his tale of this creation and give him his deserved due!!
(C) Archana Tambe