No. 4 – The concert

By Nandhini G. Natarajan

 

Piya’s teacher could

not take it anymore.

I was upon her,

like Chinese torture,

drip, drip, drip.

So what if Piya couldn’t speak

couldn’t sing,

couldn’t play?

She could do something.

 

She was given

a triangle,

for one tinkle

at the end of the song.

 

Ecstatic,

I brought the camera

and a video

to capture Piya’s debut.

I stood squarely

in the aisle,

not a movement would I miss.

 

Piya came on stage

with the triangle.

Tears gushed into my eyes.

The tinkle was heard

but not seen.

By the time,

my eyes were clear,

the moment had passed

with nary a picture to show.