Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Within the sound of silence.


        The drums grew louder in its beats, now befriending the guitar in a note that could now possibly enchant a dimly lit castle. The music allowed the mind to wonder and float in a cloud of figment imagination with characters and love and betrayal. Though trees bloom more often in thoughts and the eyes look more extraordinary, exquisitely beautiful in perfectly crafted sentiments, the violin stops everytime she turns and a strand of soft hair falls strategically covering her eyes.
      And then the music changes to sudden tension; the violinist is having a wonderful time with his agile hands lifting the music to fantastic level. He sheds a tear while he comes back to the situation. Something horrible was going to happen. Something that makes the music stop for a few seconds before the black woman tunes her pitch very high along with the drums. And everything happens in fast motion. Love is lost, friends deceive, mothers die, sisters cry at funerals, the bus hits you in the face, the bus hits the dog for its life, and you find yourself having a Popsicle on a lonely bench near a lonely riverside in a lonely world where you find no one but you.
      The saxophone drives its air into your lungs and you’re sitting by the table, having a glass of fine wine and the pianist winks at you with affection for having asked him to play his favorite song for once. So what if he is late? He will be here anytime.
Someone starts singing a cover of ‘the fix is in and the odds I got, were delicious’ and you wonder if the chandelier will drop in the tension of the song. He arrives and the chandelier drops in his wait, crushing its crystals into lovely sharp delicateness. There is silence, there is love happening. There are acoustic guitars with no strings attached. It plays with saxophones and pianos and horse carriages by the sea.

If the songs of the sea had anything to do with an orchestra, a bass drum...
If there were songs of strolling and a large cello waiting for its musician, the castle would now have a predator or a soul. It's form isn’t clear. 
The castle now resembles summer, with a sun and its rays. Trees growing in a veranda where once there laid moss clinging to the cold cemented floor. The top of the castle surrounded with delicate carvings of captivating and sultry figures. The top floor of the large hall now arranges itself into an opera balcony and you listen to the melody holding a book, ironically helping you understand its emotion. 
And you flow with the emotion meeting a song with thunderstorms and a rush of instruments you don’t recognize rings in your ears like a change of the altitude humming loudly with the waves of the sea… 
'tum kya jano tum kya ho?’
A white sari and the flute bellow your attention in the rain. What if you don’t make it?
What if the world ends like yesterday? 
With perspiration and anxiety, there still remains love. Love and a whole lotta love.
What if a thousand years passes, maybe an eternity?
Will there be love, like the whole lotta love?
Everything swirls into a whirlpool, a pool of love.
And darkness comes to talk with you again, with the sound of silence.