Photograph by John Hinten
___________________________
With no song to sing
nor prose to tell,
no poetry to utter
or cries to yell,
no words to describe her current state
of lingering in cracks between love and hate,
she goes on with life and a quiet sigh
and hopes to inspire the passersby...
Cynthia
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6 comments:
Compelled to perform,
she breathes each note.
One or many may stop,
she recharges the air.
Beauty and conviction,
she captivates the moment.
Timeless love of symphony,
she elevates the ordinary.
There's no explanation.
There's no comparison.
It just is.
A tectonic move within.
A surge of emotion brought forth.
It just is.
Music.
Every morning, at half past six, my older sister packed her chair and her two cello cases - one empty, one full -, slipped into a pair of grubby tennis shoes, and headed out to the train station, where she set herself up by a dingy cement wall. Sitting there in her pajamas in the corner of the already bustling building, my sister poured herself into a ballad. Passersby paused to toss quarters into the ancient cello case, but my sister never looked up. She kept her eyes on her fingers and her fingers on the strings, with her yellow ponytail flopping to the side like a sun-kissed mop, and her thick dark eyelashes nearly touching her cheeks.
Sometimes I went along and watched my sister's morning.
Horse Hair and Bow rosin,
With calluses deep and emotions shallow, sleek and fragile appendages press taunt catgut strings tightly against the ebony fret board of the pawn shop cello. One case unpacked, with unanswered hopes of unpacking the second before the sun traded its warmth for moonlit loneliness. She feigned a gentle smile at the irony that her case was actually a total of two cases. One for the over grown fiddle and the other with her life’s accomplishments. Still pressing forward, harmonizing melodies reverberating through the empty subway forest, creating sounds even though no one was there to hear the tree fall.
With no song to sing
nor prose to tell,
no poetry to utter
or cries to yell,
no words to describe her current state
of lingering in cracks between love and hate,
she goes on with life and a quiet sigh
and hopes to inspire the passersby...
Beautiful writing, everyone! I love these entries. :)
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