The bittersweet symphony by Ahmed Shayo

Even in sorrow his mind was full of music.
Life was a rhythm of emotion
And pain
And the ticking hands of time wrapping heartbeats
Around his chest
& age
Around his eyes.
His mind would listen to the melody from its box seat,
A priviledged audience to the orchestra,
And feel himself
Wander off
On the surge and swell of sound waves
From a sea of thought,
Churning daydreams like foam when he drove
Into inky wells of the unknown.
The trouble seemed to be that every time he surfaced
He was a newer person,
Broken out from a shell as if moulted, so now
His skin was smoother than before,
Threaded with a thicker fur that
Never flinched
Against moon-cold light,
And though he still hurt the same
His blood clotted faster and made
Out of his wounds.
But his mind still carries the music,
Crammed the lyrics onto memory with bare hands
And danced like fire
Every time it burned him.


She reminded him of fire.
A continuous motion of sun’s blood
In the gaze of her eyes.
Her words were a soothing warmth,
And in this cold world
Everything is drawn to heat.
Like a moth
He braved the burning air to get closer
With wings
Stitched with eyes for his enemies.
When she spoke her voice was a song,
A background of the melodies he hang on the walls of his mind,
A missing soul that must have
Sailed off for heaven
When the music died on stage.
She left notes on the strings of his heart,
Tugged her fingers upon him and made goosebumps
Rise in applause
To the first tune.
He was a harp,
And she could find the bits that turned vibration
Into a masterpiece for the opera.
But like all flames,
She was pain incarnate.
He fought to go back to his waves
But she had turned his world into ash
And buried graves
Were left open on his tongue,
Singed and charred and robbed off its taste,
Thrown into colors of the night
Only things as blind as love
Are awake.
His heart joined the collection of silence left behind
By her absence,
And the sea of music in his mind
Became a crater.
A depression
Left behind by a celestial being.
She was a destroyer best stayed away from.
And yet her scent was everywhere,
Coaxing him to find her again
Like poetry
At the tip of her tongue.


    • Sorry about that….thank you so much for taking the time to read.. I’d have to say the one advice I was given a long time ago was to never stop writing no matter how bad the layout is

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