Tales of mis conceptional misery long heard is still echoing in the fields half-reaped, could you sense? I often misheard it to be the music of agony, while it sang the unheard song of pure joy. Her mellifluous voice was no more muted. Virtual deafness! Who else could I have blamed for my blindness?
Now that I am no more deaf and blind I could watch her moving her arms and hands back down , the edges of her frilled skirt flaunting victoriously while her choreographed legs ran through the soft grass bed. Pause! Is that a ball where she’s dancing? The unheard side of her song is superfluous! Barring my deafness, decibels came in a cadence , all the notes painted me with colours bright and varied.
The cacophony heard in the distance suddenly stopped. Were they the patriots of pessimistic art forms? She started seeking for the ‘Ode of Joy.’ The strings of her legs too abruptly stopped. Chorus, Chorus! She exclaimed. The retreating figures moved back, she was unable to pace with them. To her surprise, abnormally fat deluge roared in. More or less soaked, every tiny bit sang for her, devoid the thick and thin figures.
She sang, for Beethoven tuned her song. The harmony that followed was a credulous spectacle! Withdrawing figures from the distance peeked in. Their legs wanted to haste in, but lips hesitated. All her new mates held her hand, made wonderful pairs for her. Bowing them, humming to Beethoven, she merrily danced…to her soul’s satisfaction, also for the torments she went through, having enough tormentors, now lined behind. Rejoice! She mumbled. God is nothing but goodness and the good will definitely find him. Dance!