The Last Organ Grinder

The silence stream cascades in the alien alley, sonata of stillness resonates in the concrete, dances with the music of the barrel organ, his weathered calloused fingers produce. The nostalgic notes play a melancholic melody, echo the tune of the tantalizing times long-gone. The sigh of the old organ scatters on the street, bemoans bittersweet echo of the sound of music. From the concealed cacophony of clamoring past, the music returns to where it used to be once. The stark reality remains secret in songs unsung, in the abysmal abyss of his marooned mind. On the misty path weary in the winter wilderness, feelings freeze like insensible ice on trails unwalked. The buds of emotion wither away unblossomed in the forlorn frigid gorge of the glacial hearts. In the titular template of listless loneliness, the spaced out ethereal melody melts away, as the faraway beguiled beginning is epitomized in the million steps he has walked enchanted. The feeble resonance of his dreams drowns in the depth of desolation confusingly configured with the image splinters of his desolate desire, and they fly away to oblivion in a sonorous way. An abandoned musician of the fast fading fraternity, walking his last mile in the deserted cobblestone road, with the remains of the old rhythmical relic, the last organ grinder plays the music of swan song.