Attribution of symbolism to music

A piece about the river bubbling?
Or the rolling hills.
Winter leaves rustling
Or springtime joy.

Piano speaking of a yarn spinning
Or the night sky in string harmonics
Or the conversation of a trumpet and a voice.

Maybe.

But the sound of time rumbling?
A piece about the essence of life?
A soundscape that captures all of love?
Rather than a small story?

The song of the harmony of the spheres?
Instead of tops spinning

Why associate higher symbolism to something
As temporal and recurrent as music?

Why project our ideas of what is worthwhile
and aim for every word we write?
Every note we sing, to be a masterpiece?

Instead of just being what it is for itself.
A temporal little being.

लाल वस्तू

महाराजबागेतल्या गुंजेच्या झाडाखाली आईबरोबर बसून घालवलेल्या संध्याकाळी गुंजेचा पाला खाताना गुंजा वेचून, गोळा करून, घरी आणून सजवताना तशाच लाल गुंजांसारखे मखमली किडे पाळताना, त्यांना पावसाळ्यात पकडताना त्यांचा पाला गोळा करताना त्यांना लाजून गुर्फटताना बघताना, आईला दाखवताना मला थोडेच माहिति होते की हे अनुभव, आणि ह्या आठवणी कधी अशृ होतील आणि लाल शर्ट घालून त्या पावसाळ्याची आज तहान भागवावी लागेल

angry

my grandmother used to spot in us a hereditary anger the chest learning to well up blood learning to leap and breath learning to crawl foreheads burning with heat of little children the attempt of anger to become disgusting raging energy that will occupy every living stream. nobody wants to hold an angry person rage drunk, getting bigger and bigger until other people are invisible like ants and you can dissolve them in your hot blood and things around you break and shatter at this point she would hold. a violent hand shaking her away Ya I remember my grandmother used to spot it in us as children already And hold our hand "until you get over your rage I will not let go of your hand" hold VERY TIGHTLY "I will not leave your hand until you learn how you should calm down" i would fail despite that gesture to understand what was happening and i could not receive love at that time because i have so much anger But the act she is doing is still that of HOLDING

Numbers

I know now the minute at which the sun sets and rises When I'm nervous I know the speed at which my heart runs when it floods I know the amount of water that overflowed in cusecs. The number of animals that are alive within some species The degrees by which the earth is heating and the exact amount of diminished magnetism. I have recorded the day and the time the GPS co-ordinates of when we grew apart the number of letters in goodbye as a faithful accountant of the heart I have no numbers on my loneliness the degree by which expression dumbed down and smiling and frowning became more similar like interpolated homotopic lines coefficients of a grey space of feelings.

Sometimes serious

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