I still listen to music with words
When I am writing words
Sunlight streams through the window
Trees sway outside, with branches scratching the glass window
-
I smell fresh coffee beans
Starbucks, from the Philippines
A piece of paper flutters down
I look at it with a frown.
-
And one thing I suddenly recall,
It gives me an idea, a reason to stall
From what I am doing, (hummingbird mind, my friend.)
And I went into an imaginary glen.
With only my pen and my notes
For company, then my mind began to float.
*He wrote in the most perfect handwriting
Compared to my scatterbrained black scribbling
He strummed a chord on my heartstrings
Without him even knowing
His name sounded like
the gold-tipped wings
of angels.
While mine sat on the
brown earth,
dreaming to the skies.
Though, once we'd meet once a week
And I would smile in the hallways
looking like a freak
There was always something idiotic
the way his teeth stuck out like a bunny's
He reminded me of Ishaan from* Taare Zameen Par
*A dyslexic student, great artist, had a smile so sunny.
I'm playing Owl City on my mp3
That's our secret anthem
Tears were there
The melody from the speakers
I wished I could've sat beside you
When your fingers waltzed over the black-and-white keys
Now I'm sitting all alone by myself
Tapping on black-and-white letters on the Mac
Even though I play the violin
I can't accompany you
My bow screeching against the strings
Just doesn't do your mesmerising piano justice
What I can only do is write
And draw with a cheap ballpen from a meeting hall
I will draw your eyes and your crooked grin.
And my dreams of you that remain unfulfilled.*
I finish the poem
Rip the page out of my notebook
And tape it to the wall with my other works
and newspaper clippings, oh just look.
Tomorrow I take it down again
Slip it into an envelope
Wonder if I should buy a stamp.
Maybe mail it overseas with forlorn hope.
A month passes by,
The envelope gathers dust under my bed.
Oh my darling, oh my darling
The chances with you are hanging by a thread
We're going to fly back home once more
So I decide to get you a keepsake from here.
A wooden owl, carved by hand
I slip the poem inside, thinking what you'd think when it appears…