To them they are merely black and white shapes,
employed to bring sparkle to the beautiful words
which help them reminisce.
For them to feel,
words ought to escort melody
or else music is simply neat rows of sound.
Yet I find that, for me to feel,
words are irrelevant to this melody
for my profoundest feelings are encased in each key
in every note, is a perfect expression of my passion.
They are my keys, to the secret doors
which open into gardens where my emotions grow.
Here in this octave, the first,
lie the low haunting calm sounds,
that twist my insides into giant Gordian knots.
The kind that only the incurable pain of your absence
with the bitter-sweet memory of you brings.
Yet it is also in these deep gentle notes that I hear you
the sensual voice which made my guard disintegrate
every time into a pile of fine sand.
Those silvery tinkly notes of the last octave,
whose sound is reminiscent of water drops falling onto a pool,
clear and distinct,
are a musical drizzle that
falls onto my thirsty soul.
Soaking it causing the feelings,
buried deep within to germinate.
I find you in the harmony of notes combined,
an intoxicating emotional cocktail
of dizzying nostalgia and nauseating regret.
Of love lost and passion unspent.
I find you, like the grand transpose,
taking me your audience by surprise.
Bringing a fresh wave of goose bumps each time
and yet unlike the transpose of music that has to cease,
you do not.
To them they are simply black and white keys,
beneath my fingers, they are secret chords
that unlock the memories in my hearts diary.
Unlike them, I do not need the words of love songs,
I only need to walk down,
these black and white roads of ivory
and I will be led to you.
Namuddu Ann Lindah-2012