Maestro
Maestro bows, a motion lulls thunder,
ovations a period of heeling, a clap
diverts a few, then attends silence.
A typical cough failed its challenge,
disturbed section promptly affects
a hall--indulges the jittery few. An
abrupt tapping expresses with
distinction and a Grandeur Hall
transcends towards the respective
measures that virtuous it's due.
His first appearance in the luxurious
auditorium, covetousness befell the
many, save one. Maestro entranced
a curve amidst a grand hall, fulfilling
hopes of men who are dropping jaws
and the prim-n-proper ever-widening
pupils for cosmetics lost effects.
As the thickness of the drape-enriched
velour, entrenched symphonic, designer
concertos, intricate waltzes, filament of
operettas--richly curtained memories
bliss.
Maestro's music world is the gist of his
being. To suggest other worlds, why
bother, it's just the world of music, and
that's the end of it. It's not a peculiarity
when one's grasp of the world is finite
and specific, that's what defines him.
I certainly don't want to be in a spot
when I'm in a surgical room, having my
heart worked on and standing there in
surgeon's clothes is the local dog catcher.
There are no hidden agendas. His life is
an open book. Life can be much simpler
if there were more people like Maestro
when he made up his mind it be so,
assuring his notoriety and, without a
doubt, a place for his name in the annals
of music history.
Copyright ©
Hilo Poet
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