The bow glides along the strings
And the magic begins
The audience sit back
Drowned in the oblivion of the painful passion.
A breeze, at first, soulful and graceful.
Suddenly, the scales ascend.
Grace escapes her movements.
The pitch pierces and her fingers bleed.
The bloody fingers stain the violin.
Harmony, melody , rhythm lost.
But the lady continues,
Her face marred by pallid hues,
Closes her eyes, struggles to contain her passion .
But it devours, shadows the pain.
Tears trickle down her smooth face.
She drops to her knees.
Lets out an excruciating scream.
But, she does not stop.
No one can stop her.
Not even herself.