Through the 100 Days of Melody project, Sushrut Munje attempts to write complementary poetry for music by Yanni. First published on Frankaffe (pic courtesy: fauxto_digit)
Culture and Society,  Love

100 Days of Melody #3 – Third 10 – inspired by Yanni

Introducing 100 Days of Melody – click to read what it’s all about.

100 Days of Melody #1 – First 10

100 Days of Melody #2 – Second 10

Shifting from my previous works inspired by the works of Aruna Jade, the next 20 would be inspired by some of Yanni‘s best. Thank you, Ruta Waghmare, for the nudge and for sharing your favorite 20 Yanni classics. My prose is based only on the instrumental tracks, without an inkling of what lyrics have been attributed to the tracks later. Here go the first 10.

Adagio in C minor

How do I share, my dearest, what I feel as I stand here in an attempt to understand time? How do I describe the beauty of being present here and now – the lights and the smell? I see fire and rain and the clouds – I see colors unreal – I seek answers to the hunger within. Men built castles on earth to withstand a siege. Is peace through being present here and now, the solution, to the battlefield within?


I feel soaked. It is a dance you take me through. I have held you before, we have sat beneath the moonlight, by the moonlit streets, under the moonlit trees, by the whispering ocean. You choose your words right. It is raw, when you kiss me. You take me back to the beginning of it all. I want you, the way I would want a day, the way I would live it through. I want you like I want my coffee, the mind numbing flavor that hits hard. I want you like I would want the morning sunshine to light up my home. I want you like a wild beast that you are. Rip me apart, my storm. Twist me right, squeeze till it’s real. Melt me with the wet warmth. This dance cannot be undone.


The child gives birth to a mother and a woman is never the same again. Cradling an unseen one, giving it all the love in the world, sensing its every movement and humming a happy song – a mother grows with the child, laughs with it, cries with it, understands love even more so, unconditional and deep. We can neither behold nor fathom the power of this birth, as a being with a mind of its own grows through a mother’s womb.

Those with good fortune scratch at the surface of understanding the meaning and the purpose, ultimately being parents themselves to know what it feels like. We live and die, cycles of pure love muddied with hands held tight with a fear of letting go. Have you ever spent your childhood making a paper boat and then let it sail away in a forest river? You spend half your life building a human only to have it fly away – and that’s how it should be.

In the Mirror

Reflection of the world, of the self, of the hate and of the love. Into the mirror, let us peep in, let us attempt to see how we smile and how we laugh, how we hate and how we kill, how we look when we are at peace. Into the mirror, let us glance, let us know how the light in our eyes goes away when we think a fearful thought, let us see our eyes shining bright in the happy sun. Let us make believe in the power of this mirror, let us make it powerful for being there and showing us what we are. Let us avoid the difficult task of knowing the truth ourselves, let us be vain enough to only see and believe, we know that the paint isn’t wet till we touch and see. Let there be mirrors on all walls if that’s what it takes.


See how free the bird is, as it soars into the night sky, claims the wind for its own. The purple glow of the late twilight lingers, and the night flowers lay heavy, their scent insistent, much like the memories of the day now past. Listen to the bird, its thought momentary, so the joy and the sweet notes, the bird knows no worry. Feel it soar again, the flutter audible, much like her heart when you whisper in her ear. Fly away into the starlight as if there is no tomorrow, make love by the open sea, sing like the nightingale and kiss her glow of the moon. Her lips would be sweeter than the sweetest song ever written.

November Sky

Stepping out into the open, I witness the orange sky. Stepping out of the warmth, I witness a sky welcoming an end and a rebirth. Its language has always been a mystery. Like a shadow without the light. Mist without the dawn. A painting without a muse and her sultry self without a lover. I am a speck in this vast expanse, overwhelmed, my notes out of tune, my wings too feeble and the wind too strong. I stand in a corner as the sky braces itself. The end is nigh. It speaks of being born again and I wait to see what that means.


When you cross the obvious joy of the trees and the sunlight, you go beyond to the real thoughts, the ones which nag, the ones which make you hesitate, the ones you are never sure of. They creep, they hold on to you tight, they grow through you, defining how you think throughout your life, yet inviting doubt. They are radical, they are wild and everything that the society detests – for they ask you to cross the line. They are beautiful, like the lonely mountain and the odd stream that gargles along. Not everyone understands the genius.


It is a starry summer night as I read out poetry, desperate to grasp what is the beginning, what is the end, for the river seems to flow on forever. Does the day end into the night, or does the evening open up to the stars? Does the night give birth to the day or are we blind to the eternal darkness? What if we have mistaken the brightness for joy, while it being the other way round? Is death truly to be feared, or to be embraced with open arms? Should we really keep running around in circles or seek liberation? When do we know enough to stop giving in, when do we know how to grow? Is that the moment we begin being our better selves, or is that when we stop being human? Knowing that we have unanswered questions is the first step.

Rain Maker

Dance of the heavens, dance under the clouds, hands waving as the mortals conspire, mimicking the playful wind, attempting the rainbow leaps, smiling in anticipation at the sky, trusting the Gods for the dance goes beyond the drum beats, for it opens up our hearts for the unknown, deep faith in the unknown, deep love for the Spirit so powerful that it makes the mountains rumble and the sky blue. Rain! Rain! Oh rain, you make everything real, you make the dirt fragrant, making food out of mere seeds, making songs out of thirst. Dance with the rainmaker, learn the dance of the Gods, learn how he learned it, learn how he has us all spellbound in this ritual, in complete surrender to something we believe he understands.


It starts with your insides, when they change and refuse to accept you for what you are, assuring you that you were right all along, the voices in the head and keenness for the sea breeze was natural for the mountain boy that’s you. It starts when you cannot stand straight, for your feet demand a deck instead of the grassy slopes, when the cliff is just not enough and your eyes seek the wild waves, your arms long for the sails as sheep graze your hill farms. It starts when the sunlight hits your forehead, it blinds you into insanity, the murmurs of the trees drive you mad for you do not belong any more. You are the stallion of the high seas, a seagull of the high winds, you take off into a whirl of colors, an eye of the storm, you cannot be contained no more.

100 Days of Melody #4 – Fourth 10 – inspired by Yanni – a work in progress

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