My music

Music and I are engaged in a love hate relationship. The piano is my soul mate, my confidante, when I am burdened by feelings of sadness, when I have no one to turn to, the piano is where I go to let it all out. On those 88 keys, I pour out my soul. On  those 88 keys do I find valleys and hills, rolling thunders and swirling waters. When the rolling waves ceased to clash upon the shingles, and the rain cease their relentless beating, I play myself a flowing river trickling upon pebbles.

And yet, I am no good a pianist, though I want to be. My music could not swoon a lady nor will she be woed, for the reality is, it may be music in my ears, it is nothing grandeur for others to hear. I play for my own pleasure, and what a curse it is, for I hear more in my head than what my fingers can consolidate. I pretend to play, but a master may laugh at my imcompetence. Only 88 keys, and yet I am not able to cover it. Alas, I will play in the loneliest of night, when no one is there to listen.

On failure (draft)

On Failure (a draft)

O Failure, most misunderstood mother of success,

How trying you are to the trying man.

Are you the cause of downfall for many,

Or could mortals succeed without your mocking glance?

Aye, Success and Failure,

Lovers from the start,

You walk hand in hand,

Side by side, leaving nothing to chance.

You call us to your circle,

Changing partners as we go.

Up and down, high and low,

Following the passionate rhythm of Tango.

From the ruins of ashes, shall phoenix rise.

And empires fall with achievement's pride

Success and Failure, you are the hen and egg question

Of Human achievements.