My soul is a secret orchestra, but I don't know what
instruments - strings, harps,cymbals, drums -strum and bang
inside me.I only know myself as the symphony.
(A poem by Rafeeque Ahammad. Translated by Anand ) Stay with me at the hour of my last breath, Amassing the burning veracities of life, My Fingers are dead, Let them get ease by caressing you. Last molecules of my breath may cart thy fragrance. My love, let thy face plunge In the eyes of mine, never to be opened. Ears, no longer be opened for sounds, Be sealed with thy mellifluousness. Mind, burning with thoughts and memoir, Be filled with thy evergreen memories. Kisses-made scars on my lips, Heal in the sweet chants of thy name. Reminiscences of journey, Unto thee my love, my feet tranquil. That’s enough for me, Buried under the earth, I resurrect- Newborn leaves of grass.
You're a symphony, and your soul is the orchestra composed of each instrument, each one bringing a note to the building. But who is the conductor, your mind or your heart?? Marie-christine G.
ReplyDeleteA note at the right pitch !!
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