I have a great love for music and find its the only thing that soothes me, so this is my odd ode to music.
BY NEDA A. HASAN
The green velvet sheets of silk,
That altered your overwrought façade,
Have turned into amber whips.
That sting instead of caressing you unharmed.
In the imploding sea of thorn ridden emerald,
You plead for a path to your nirvana,
But the supporting hope you held,
Seems to be fading in this painful era.
What happened to all those melodies,
That echoed through the deserted forest?
It always managed to put those arched creases,
On the emotion filled faces of the loneliest.
In the most parched and unkempt terrains,
The variable sounds of all moods,
Can bring an exuberant harvest,
To the most callous & ruthless neighbourhoods.
When all hope & faith has escaped me,
And I search for a familiar face,
Only a single pleasure satisfies me,
The resonating in my ear from a singing lace.
Something so innocent & discreet,
Something so true & impossible to fake;
Can effect anything it might meet,
With the ability to purify & fix -for yours- not its sake.
No harm can come from this gift,
For the truth is what it portrays,
It might be a regrettable drift,
But you feel fortunate hearing the tales.
So I start singing,
The lifeless whips don't remain dormant,
They wilt down whilst apologising,
And spring back to soak the essence of music's extent.
My passion for music remains indisposed,
For it's my aid in the incomprehensible world,
It's my hideout from all that I fear,
It's my shelter from the rain & the cold.
The tranquillity of music itself,
Can soothe a flaming heart of coal.
The tranquillity of music itself,
Is the other half of my soul.
Poetry by Neda A. Hasan
Read 1213 times
Written on 2005-11-09 at 09:10
Tags Music Lost
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The Singing Lace
THE SINGING LACEBY NEDA A. HASAN
The green velvet sheets of silk,
That altered your overwrought façade,
Have turned into amber whips.
That sting instead of caressing you unharmed.
In the imploding sea of thorn ridden emerald,
You plead for a path to your nirvana,
But the supporting hope you held,
Seems to be fading in this painful era.
What happened to all those melodies,
That echoed through the deserted forest?
It always managed to put those arched creases,
On the emotion filled faces of the loneliest.
In the most parched and unkempt terrains,
The variable sounds of all moods,
Can bring an exuberant harvest,
To the most callous & ruthless neighbourhoods.
When all hope & faith has escaped me,
And I search for a familiar face,
Only a single pleasure satisfies me,
The resonating in my ear from a singing lace.
Something so innocent & discreet,
Something so true & impossible to fake;
Can effect anything it might meet,
With the ability to purify & fix -for yours- not its sake.
No harm can come from this gift,
For the truth is what it portrays,
It might be a regrettable drift,
But you feel fortunate hearing the tales.
So I start singing,
The lifeless whips don't remain dormant,
They wilt down whilst apologising,
And spring back to soak the essence of music's extent.
My passion for music remains indisposed,
For it's my aid in the incomprehensible world,
It's my hideout from all that I fear,
It's my shelter from the rain & the cold.
The tranquillity of music itself,
Can soothe a flaming heart of coal.
The tranquillity of music itself,
Is the other half of my soul.
Poetry by Neda A. Hasan
Read 1213 times
Written on 2005-11-09 at 09:10
Tags Music Lost
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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