A gypsy sings a ballad true,
out in the hot desert sands.
Of the past full of rue,
with joyous and happy bands.
He plucks the melancholy strings,
and the feelings flow on dunes.
Past is now alive as he sings,
touches the soul with his tunes.
His robe flutters like his mind,
as moon rises in the heavens high.
The song with his soul does bind,
as moon on the horizon passes by.
Prasenjit©1997-2012
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