She was rejected again and again
By every music company, by every music competition
But she continued playing her violin
Sometimes in the park, other times outside the temples
Today she sat in a deserted garden, closing eyes and
Playing the violin until her fingers bled
A homeless who regularly napped there, rushed to her
Why do you play it till your fingers and heart bleed?
“Because if wounds and hurt had a voice, they would be violins…”