Colors of mind

A round sound was polished until it became a smoother sound, which was polished until it became music. Then the music was polished until it became the memory of the night.....

"You do not know anything about music. You do not know ragas. You do not know mantra, madhya, and taar.  Stop writing about music, you fool." advised the pundit.

"True. Even the blinds do not know the color, until the night comes. Tarr of vivid red, madhya of remembered green, and mantra of boundless blue comes to alive in his mind when the darkness wipes the difference from  the pride and prejudice of the daylight. I will listen through the colors of my mind and scribble it in the paper. Forgive me." I replied.