The Lady at the Opera

There is no song, no music, no opera…

A lady sings at the corner of the street.

Holding a stick and sometimes a drum.

No chimes, no violin, no lyrics

Just the beating drums.

If at all she sings,

There is no one to huddle around.

None to hear her cantillate,

None to discuss the dissonance.

She still goes on till the sun sinks,

At times a penny or two

Some one throws it at her feet

But none in gratitude.

Sometimes I see a bird,

Hopping beside her cow.

I wonder if they know,

That she sings aloud.

Or do they know she does

And silently walk by her.

For the love that her solo showers,

Only they could know.

We walk like the deaf and the blind,

She cannot hear her self.

Still she knows she sings.

A song we don’t comprehend….

For her,

There is no song, no music, no stage

For her, from where she stands

Opera is the world…

                                     ~Surina Jain

                                            Chennai, India

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