Each piano note falls like a crystal ball,
Creates an angelic, sweet dripping sound
When it touches my mind’s glass-bottom floor,
Enticing music to hear over and over again
That leaves the pattern of its imprint
On my soft, spongy brain…
Smooth sound of violins filled with whimsical calls
Stretches my imagination through the fog
And hopes for your musical ring-tone…
The stream of blood is rushing
To fill the crevasses of my ice-cold soul…
Heart stirring sound of a saxophone
Echoes from my tiny, sensitive cells,
I’m trying to reach my phone…
I am trying so hard to understand…
Why…why you didn’t call?
Being hunted by pride and all
I wipe my tears and let go of my forlorn feelings,
I slide back to my palace of solace
and hoping to be attuned
With Universe…
Loosing myself In God’s inspiration:
Melody of enchanting tunes…
By Ankin Timourian
Copyright © 2009
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Regis
EDWIN
hugs
fee
Next time he calls...be there!
Georg
For me, a poem about displacement and its therapy, we hear the alternative notes and revel in their beauty and imagination while waiting for the real yet ordinary ring of the call we long for. You've realised and expressed this very well indeed.
John