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
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