Elsewhere is a state of mind.
Elsewhere lies another door, a window maybe...where a country flute fills my mind. In a life with no strings attached I have known the feeling of abandoning too many times. I have abandoned lesser times than people have abandoned me.Perhaps the result of a futile attempt to make me love them back.Perhaps not noticing that I run towards and away from love at the same time.In a city you do not hear flutes as much you hear the screeches..the earthy tunes that brings back memories that I cannot grasp..memories that are a part of elsewhere where love and song was all that I had.I have been a fugitive of sorts,while being ashamed and proud at the same time. They told me I will gather no moss, no wisdom coz' I slip away.But even a mossy stone will slip at some time and make them slip too. So whats the point?
Elsewhere is the love I have known.Yes! I have known love and never fell out of it.
Elsewhere is a music man, who never knew the name of the song he played. His fingers danced upon the air holes of that country flute as if by destiny, as if in divine resonance of all that lay behind him and all that was yet to come.In his world I have known him and fell in love and in his world I never fell out of it.In mine, I loved him for only the moment he played the flute and stirred up my memories.And when his flute ran out of the music, I loved him no more.
Elsewhere is another time.Another age.Another picture draw in green and blue seen through a unscratched looking glass as if what I see is not a slide playing in my mind but what I see now.The flute brings the elsewhere here and I can see him sitting beneath the pines and poplars and play his mountain tune for me and me alone.He didn't know the words.I wish I did and told him that, what his flute told me.
Elsewhere lies another door, a window maybe...where a country flute fills my mind. In a life with no strings attached I have known the feeling of abandoning too many times. I have abandoned lesser times than people have abandoned me.Perhaps the result of a futile attempt to make me love them back.Perhaps not noticing that I run towards and away from love at the same time.In a city you do not hear flutes as much you hear the screeches..the earthy tunes that brings back memories that I cannot grasp..memories that are a part of elsewhere where love and song was all that I had.I have been a fugitive of sorts,while being ashamed and proud at the same time. They told me I will gather no moss, no wisdom coz' I slip away.But even a mossy stone will slip at some time and make them slip too. So whats the point?
Elsewhere is the love I have known.Yes! I have known love and never fell out of it.
Elsewhere is a music man, who never knew the name of the song he played. His fingers danced upon the air holes of that country flute as if by destiny, as if in divine resonance of all that lay behind him and all that was yet to come.In his world I have known him and fell in love and in his world I never fell out of it.In mine, I loved him for only the moment he played the flute and stirred up my memories.And when his flute ran out of the music, I loved him no more.
Elsewhere is another time.Another age.Another picture draw in green and blue seen through a unscratched looking glass as if what I see is not a slide playing in my mind but what I see now.The flute brings the elsewhere here and I can see him sitting beneath the pines and poplars and play his mountain tune for me and me alone.He didn't know the words.I wish I did and told him that, what his flute told me.
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