Sometimes, I hear a song through someone else’s headphones, too quiet to name but loud enough to feel.
I never ask what it is. Letting it stay anonymous feels more honest. It’s not mine. I was just near it.
A violin behind a closed door in an apartment I’ll never enter. Footsteps on an old wooden floor above me like a rhythm nobody meant to write. A man humming in the metro not to perform, but because he’s alone and forgot the world has ears.
There are moments I’ve been completely undone by a melody I never fully heard.
Half of it lost to the train. Half of it blurred by walls. But something in me was tuned just right to catch what escaped.
We think music is what’s played. But maybe it’s also what passes through when we weren’t looking. When we didn’t try to hold it. Or name it. Or own it.
Of their subservient stewards and obedient pages Of their stalwart squires and servile knaves
Of poor humble, docile minions who tended to regal pavilions And obeisantly carried royal palanquins Oh and some were real life harlequins
Of castles and palaces of abounding gold and silver in ostentatious regal splendour
The sidelined fanning maids in waiting Yet to me only one thing worth noticing The minstrels who came to sing from afar for the queen and king
For I'd rather be a poetess for kings so to my tunes swayed a kingdom than I be the king of mere subjects and be filled with regal boredom!
So I could join ranks of troubadours and sing for the king some folklores.
Since the site has no picture feature for each poem I think I will post the poems pic on my cover photo, so the cover photo will represent my latest poem. Take care all and best wishes to site owners.
She is the life, He is the death. She was mistreated, He held no breath. She hoped to end, He fought to stay. She kissed him once— He rose, She slipped away.