On bitter winter nights,
When a playful moon hides,
Behind the dark threatening clouds
Billowing in the solitary skies,
And an icy wind hollers down
The uneven ground
Overgrown with the weeds,
That stands even to-day,
This vast ground
Outside the gates of the old town,
And the screaming wind
Flattens shrubs, elephantine grass and shakes
Big trees,
At such odd hour,
The young gypsy comes out of his
Colourful tent pitched on the higher
Ground and awaits for his young beloved—
A nubile fair, coy maid from the glittering town,
Who comes stealing in the cold night,
Propelled by a love strange and blind,
To meet her dark handsome prince that plays
A seductive flute in the gloom,
The dulcet sound conducting the shy maid
To her man sitting in the shadows dancing
To his magical tunes,
Both the lovers unite and then part
To meet again and again,
On moonless sighing nights,
On the higher ground,
Under the whispering
Ancient
Banyan tree, caressed by the
Same bitter winds that knock everything down
And utterly terrify the superstitious town,
Till, as the scheming fates desired
One dark night,
Tipped and
Betrayed by her jealous friend
That loved the gypsy musician
From a full secret heart,
Came the army from an armed town
And killed the handsome gypsy
While he played the gentle flute,
The harmless man who did not have a chance
To fight the brutal killers in one-to-one fight,
And it was,
Let me tell you all,
A murder most foul,
Simply
Because the town always feared the
Dark colour,
The curly hair,
The divine music
Of the
Members proud of a
Wandering,
Restless
Fierce,
Dispossessed
Homeless
Tribe.
