Playing The Sitar

Solfas fill the air one by one,
Brimming with perfection, flaws none.
They twist and turn in the air,
Creating an atmosphere so very rare.
Moved by this audible beauty,
My eyes scan for the source so bounty.

Several strings jump in excitement,
Encouraged by fingers trained to experiment.
I greedily take in the gleam of the wood,
And the carvings that complement this mood.
Knobs and swans are more than decorations,
I realise with a pang of admiration.

The skilled fingers move knowingly over the frets,
Each move capable of taking taking off hats.
They said he was a master,
They said he was the teacher.
Eager to feel the touch of this magic,
I approached the teacher to learn what's basic.

He brought me over mountains,
He brought me out of valleys.
What was good was always complemented,
All apologies made were always accepted.

I wish to continue this heavenly journey,
Regardless of how risky it may turn out to be.
Because i know one thing for sure,
That for me, my teacher's always here.