He makes my simplicity look beautiful,
He makes my faults look innocence,
While filling his book with my persona,
He makes my ordinariness look resplendence!

While within the woods of poetry, he wanders,
He leaves me on its outskirts to observe and wonder,
Whether I love this virtuoso,
Or the virtuosity of his words,
Whether I love this person,
Or the way he presents me through his words!

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- Boost Thyself

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- Boost Thyself

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Behind his work
Inside his heart
Infront of the mirror
Beside his friends
He's a virtuoso

But on top of every
Thought in their house
He's going to be
A monthly salary

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A virtuoso is hidden behind everyone of us
That reveals itself only
When inside a closed room,
Sound of free flowing water,
In utter privacy,
Love the time with ourselves,
Cherish doing it everyday,
Energizes us....ie...the BATHROOM....
Yes...a place in common for every Virtuosic soul...who feels his voice is not Musical or Melodious...

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Love in dreams,
I am an actor,
A virtuoso,
On a stage.

Faceless audience,
Is enraptured by my romantic dialogues,
Roars at my humorous quips,
Slowly claps at my gallant heroism,
Weeps at my suffering,
Is touched by my sacrifices,
Empathises with my longing.

In real love,
I am the performer
And the lone,
Spectator.

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"I won't perform until I get the full payment." said the virtuoso Panditiji.
A large crowd had gathered to watch him play the sitar that evening. Everyone in the crowd eagerly waited for the start of the program.
"Panditji please don't do such a thing, we have paid you full and did everything you demanded but how can we arrange so much money right now, please give us time till the end of the concert." The organiser pleaded.
"Pay the money right now. Or I am leaving." Panditji remained unaffected by the organiser words.
The organiser tried to persuade him but to no avail and he left the venue without performing. As expected there was a chaotic situation and people vandalized the venue in anger. What was unknown to them was the backstage confrontation. The organiser suffered great loss.
People without knowing exact events sided with Panditji, the organiser were blamed for the situation till an article in the newspaper changed it all.
Unknown to the organiser there was a reporter who had came to interview Panditji who witnessed the whole situation and wrote a detailed article of it. After two days the article came out with the heading
"A virtuoso forgets the rhythm of his own music."

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MISS ...

Months before,you were here.
Feels the wait is for years.

Wherever you stay for long,
It obliterates.
Don't leave us alone
with your plausible excuses.

Oh itinerant! you blissful.
Turn our times slow,once more.
Message of your arrival
Is reason for survival.

Native of heaven,
Nature's own virtuoso;

Amuse us with your
opera of tapping on leaves,
Mellifluous pitter-patters
on rooftops,
Dear Miss Monsoon
Waiting for your first drops...

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She was dancing
To the tune of rain drops
She was singing
With the breeze
She Was aesthetically
Humming with falls
Prodigy of natural beauty
Epitome of mystic
She will be unstoppable
Virtuoso some day
She is a child
Of nature.✍

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He failed to crack JEE.
Everyone was disappointed except the Virtuoso inside him.

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