POEM - Unstrung

In silent rooms where echoes sleep,

A violin lies where dust runs deep.

Its strings once taut, alive, and sprung,

Now curled and brittle, they hang—unstrung.

Fingers that danced in reckless grace,

Once roamed its neck with fierce embrace.

Now air grows thick where music hung,

A hollow place left cold, unstrung.

By candlelight, in twilight’s gloom,

It played of joy and love in bloom.

But time grew tired, and silence clung,

Its wooden heart fell still—unstrung.

The bow, once charged with trembling fight,

Now lies forgotten, dim from light.

Rosin flakes like fallen snow,

On splintered strings that cease to glow.

The room remembers—each refrain,

Each note of sorrow, each note of pain.

Where chords would soar, and colors run,

Now all is mute, undone, unstrung.

A song of loss without goodbye,

The strings grew weak, then failed to try.

The melody that burned the tongue,

Now trapped in air—alone, unstrung.

Its body cracks from thirst and time,

The varnish fades, the curves decline.

Yet still it waits, though years have spun,

For hands to heal what lies unstrung.

A craftsman’s bench with tools of gold,

Awaits a day both brave and bold.

Where fingers mend what age has wrung,

And tune again what lies unstrung.

But memory weighs with heavy bone,

Not all returns, not all re-grown.

Some notes once lost, forever flung,

Into the dark, forever unstrung.

Yet there’s a truth in broken strings,

That not all sorrow stillness brings.

For echoes breathe in silent lungs,

And beauty waits, though soft, unstrung.

The violin’s curve, still proud it stands,

With scars like maps on weary hands.

Its voice may crack, its song unsung,

But love remains—even unstrung.

So let the dust lay where it will,

Let time be kind or cruel still.

The heart remembers where songs once sprung,

And waits the day it’s re‑unstrung.

Perhaps new strings will span its throat,

Perhaps new hands will lift its note.

But till that time, its wood is young,

With hope beneath, though now unstrung.

Some things must break to be remade,

Some songs must sleep before they're played.

And when new fingers coax it sung,

It won't forget the time—unstrung.

Unstrung: Where Silence Holds the Memory of Music.

Short Summary:

“Unstrung” is a reflective and deeply human poem that personifies an old, broken violin, whose strings have fallen silent over time. It explores themes of memory, loss, aging, and renewal.

"The absence of sound is not the end—it’s the breath before rebirth" -- Jacky Kapadia

The instrument, once vibrant with music and emotion, now sits forgotten—its strings loose, its body cracked—but still holding quiet hope for restoration. The poem captures the bittersweet beauty in both brokenness and the promise of revival, reminding readers that even in silence, the heart of music remains.