Ice cold, the plunge into
this place. The swirling
torrent, pushing, pulling
tearing at my soul.
Feel my body try
to follow soundless rhythm
dancing to an unheard tune
that beats and pulses
in sharp crescendos
the rise and fall of music,
above the sweet lull
of a melody.
Below, the fast, staccato
beats, feel the fingers
caress the bow
as it beats across
the strings.
The vocal bubble
escapes as the
music thrills me,
feel it at once.
symphonies explode in
my mind. Fast,
faster. Conduct
the images, the music
grows. Shaking, exhaustion
Almost done.
Fast, faster, pulled,
feel it, the panic of
the end. Fast,
faster, try to reach
for that last glimmer
of sunlight, and! ...
the drums falls away....
The pulse is gone,
the music has
claimed another drummer.
Now the moon shines
across the gentle lullaby
of a surface. Soon the
drummer will rise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Music is beautiful. The essence of this poem just made music a whole other world, a whole other person, emotion, thought, religion... which it is. keep writting. I understand the drummer. It took me to be a drummer to understand music.. then I fell in love: ]