The Song of a Hanging Frame

A serene face
The hanging frame on the wall
A silence envelops,
Stilling the surroundings.
Even as my gaze capitulates
To its inscrutable magnetic charm
She is smiling
In the groves
And so am I!
That song of that day
In my heart unwinds
The birds chirp,
Calls of longing
A soft haunting strain
Of an ethereal connection.
Soft drums
The gurgle of the brook
The abandon in her childish innocence
The melody haunts
The husky voice mesmerises
Flashes of moments scintillate
Through the blur of a clouded past
Soft resonance of bells
A surreal unison
A celebration.

The tempo rises
Reverberations of a thousand voices
Chants pierce the misty air
And the bells ring
The rising cadence
Sounds of whiplashes,
Indelible welts on my scarred heart.
The tempo slowly bubbles forth
Spilling over
In an earth shattering cresendo
The climax
The drums boom
The glass on the table shakes
Her muffled cries for help
Rending my heart
As I rush forth helplessly
Wildly carilloning temple bells
The alarm
The voice quavers at the highest tremolo
Her flames rage
Devouring the home
And the past
Ravaging all but the hanging photograph.
When the earth trembles.
The shattering clap of thunder
Culminating the built-up crescendo
Into a moment's devastating silence
A finality.

Silence.
Soft patters of rain.
Quiet tears stream down
A soft melody resumes in the background
Fading away
Poignance.
The memory of a symphony is over
The song is no more.
Just
A serene face,
The hanging frame on the wall
An eternal silence envelops.

- posted by Dileepan @ 3:23:00 am

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