A Musical Confession

When I type, I just don't write the words I think but the musical notes.  May be that is why both are named a keyboard. Like that of a melancholic musical notes that digs the hypothalamus and brings back the memory to eyes, followed by tears to wash it and clean it, when I write, these words plays a song that I wish I shouldn’t have heard.  When someone asked me, long back when I was very young, to close my eyes and think back the mistakes and sins I committed; all I heard was a happy song though here and there it was off key.  But now when I close my eyes and think back through the path I walked I could realize I have crushed may roses with my own hands for its thorns has made me bleed.  All I forgot is those are roses and thorns are by nature. It was a beautiful music mixed with melody and rough strings.  The music enters directly to heart from ears before it could reach the brain.  Before the brain analysis what to do with the emotions that thorns already stings the hearts wall and thus my eyes bleed.  I do not want anybody to see that I am bleeding inside and that is why the tears are colorless and not red.

I sit in a garden, to write, filled with essence of flowers and aroma of grasses it was all magical to see the surrounding happy and fresh.  The song of nature was always refreshing, a mild melody that keeps hushing in the breeze that keeps the world moving.  But there also exists a song of sorrow inside the heart.  The sorrow of the bleeding wound, the pain of the scars that could not be healed.  And when I start to write happy words would not come.  My comrade, the solitude, wants to fill my pen with the mixture of my past and tears to write.  Never my comrade left me alone and that is why solitude became my best comrade.  I wondered many a time what makes a good poem or a prose.  I realized that it is not a writer or a poet who makes a piece of writing to enter into one’s heart but the song they heart from inside.

My song was so special to me though it is always a sad one.  I know not to sing so could not explain it but I know the notes of the music that what I write down. This is my personal song that only I could hear; all others could listen but not hear.

A voice said – Close your eyes relax go deep into your heart.  The expedition starts with a fresh day light like that of an early morning sun.  It won’t hurt.  Get deeper and deeper the music slows down like the ending note of a violin.  Go deeper, wipe the blurred glass where all the stains of the life was hiding; now the song will become melodic, romantic, filled with love and lust.  Get passed through the glass like the light and it begins to dim.  You sometime see twilight loving and harmonic and suddenly you will see dusk, then dark.  The songs’ pitch changes; the drama of melancholy will start.  This journey is not so easy, not a narrow straight path but a wide road with multiple lanes.  Sometimes it brings you to the same road you walked before just to understand the path, make sense out of the experience the road has given you.

Don't open the eyes; just allow your mind to travel.  Do not shut your ears; allow the song to enter into your heart. The dark wall that you have painted with white will start showing its own color.  To show the world that the wall is only white and there exist not a spot of dark you would have painted in white.  But the wall always revel its original color to the one who painted. Only the one who painted can see the darkness behind the white shade. Only the composer knows the missing notes in the song.  Alas! My composer knows the mistakes in the song I just could hear and not correct. 

The voice again said – it wrong time to open your eyes, get deeper, travel deeper.  The music now will become poignant.  Don’t stop hearing; just keep listening to the music.  The unfaithfulness, the love, the lust, the care, the ambivalence, the malevolence, the gratitude, the good deeds, the bad sins and what not; all that you have done to your life pops out like roses and thorns. 

Remember, the voice said – the flower you smelled, its softest petals that you caressed and sucking out all the honey from it you flew away like a cruel bee and the flower started fading.  You didn’t look back for you are afraid that flower was fading and it’s because of you.  You do not know whether there may be a rain to water the rose or a storm to uproot, but you didn’t stop to look back for you are afraid the sin might fall on you which are already yours.

Don’t open the eyes – the voice said again – loses are always lose.  You were once a mother feeding the breast milk of love to the baby that was not born for you.  And there came a storm with turned your world upside down.  The baby disappeared leaving its heart in your heart blended.  Centuries you may live but the memory of that touch of the baby, those little fingers that scratched your lips and those tiny lips that sucked your lips, will leave you never.  You will still feel the weight of the baby in your hands for only the heart has grown hands.  Now the song is a sad lullaby which will make the baby sleeping inside the mud to sleep and keep you awake.

You are once in your mother’s womb carefree, happy, enlightened, rejoicing the warmth of the amniotic.  And now you want to get back there for you can start your life anew; the same life in different fashion.  But you are not allowed.  More tears now running through the cheeks and it now has touched your chest trying to put off the burning heart. The song changed to longing, the music of guilty.

Open your eyes – the voice said – you do not want to open the eyes but it’s not the time to shut down the life so you have to open the eyes and look at the light without fear and guilty for days may not come back for you to correct. 

Deep inside every heart there is always a song of hope, a devotional song of faith and trust. Only the composer knows when to stop playing the music, till then just sit back relax, listen and enjoy when it is a song of joy and cry when it is a song of sorrow.  Hum the song of life and the life goes on till the notes are done.

                                                                                                          - S