Listening Poem by Procyon Mukherjee

A note or two and
many bars that are in tempo
Or a deepening silence separating a few
Gorging to tie, an imbalance,
The tune, never missing a beat
An emotion or the complete history of times

He chose to make a mark, the Master
Beginning with an F in the minor,
No one would doubt the looming
Winds, aching, gathering into the tragedy
To abound, but

It moves to the cadenza of a major F
To which we must bow
As hope is all that remains
In the room,
Even when we listen in our sleep
The event bygone