I hear flowing notes.
smooth and soothing cool.
They rush through my ears
and filter my brain
of all anxieties.
I feel relaxed-calm
as after heroin
or salicylate.
A violin it’s now.
a sitar also.
Lifeless dreams become
living, and advance
towards me, taking
me far far away.
I feel so sleep.
The flute pathetic;
Its loving notes wail
from a swollen heart.
long-weeping eyes. a
soul disconsolate,
across the air to
fill another heart,
new eyes, as fresh salt
re-kindling old wounds,
thrusting fresh pearls
of tears sparkling
from a hidden string
inside the eyes.
My pulse is rising.
the beat is rushing.
the beat is jogging.
the beat is crashing.
dazzlingly smashing.
I see stars twinkling.
twinkling and twinkling.
Shoes and feet stamping.
stamping. fast stamping,
arms and forms shaking,
shivering, quivering,
wavering, prancing,
everyone’s dancing,
All is quiet first.
sharp slow notes arise,
rise higher higher.
the crescendo fills
the back of the mind.
Cold sweat trickles down
the length of the spine.
the pupils dilate,
the cheeks turn icy,
mouth is wet, lips stuck,
joints turn numb, the
fire of tension
flares higher and higher,
hot inside while cold
outside, the deeds done.
-or sometimes a quick
crescendo crashes.
The “Fugitive’s” caught,
or James Bond has killed.
The mandolin’s playing.
An entrancing dream,
so titillating
with everfresh scenes
and those tense moments
when four eyes met,
when two smiles flashed
with sanguine hope that
the eternal charm
of the intrinsic
spell would forever
freeze on mind and heart.
by Shehnaz Somjee
–from Sometime Somewhere, circa 1977
