There are worlds after worlds, they say
Whether flying or perched it matters not
Imagination is an endless game
And so is creation as its outcome.
The magic-lights of the rain-soaked town
The lilting music from a broken pot
Are real, there in the worlds beyond
Like Rimina tip-toeing behind the mirror.
Colours splashed on a large canvas
May appear as cowherds or circus-tents
Or human forms quite weird and strange
But they exist by their own right.
Each tune is a town, each song a world
Each Raga a whole universe, delightful
Music beckons to wander in the wonder worlds
One sings and strays into worlds apart.
Truth and beauty and good and justice
Must be having their own home somewhere
So also pity and love and brotherhood
Radiating their virtues upon us.
Trees and flowers the sky and the moon
Should not bind us, we must see beyond
Fermions Bosons and the receding galaxies
Need not blind us, we should invade the unknown.