And then, search me.

Dear Readers,

Back from another week of pre-exam exhaustion - but still, of course, raring to go - theokwek has written three pieces. The first is a poem about rainy mornings (there seem to be so many of them these days, eh?). The second is a very short essay about simple music, and the third is a miniature epic poem about the swiftly tilting planet that Cinderella's prince has found himself on. Enjoy!

It seemed to me, a mortal soul,
That man knew not such love -
A love that fell immortal by,
That kissed man from above. (credits - T.S.T.E.)

The Straight Times Editor



Rainy mornings

It is the season
of wet awakenings;

and as through the showers
I gently tread – footfalls
soft amidst the raindrops –
there is the beautiful peace
of being frozen in a
blessing.

Every
thought, moment, idea,
is crystallized into a sphere,
each a globule of wisdom
torrential in itself.

Elongated
by the reluctant tug
of a motherly earth, they
hang from the sky;
hanging in a way
so free and pure
that man can never
know.

As I look up,
inspiration shatters
on my glasses, blurring
the earth into a tangle of
lines that somehow do
not divide
left, right, up, down, right, wrong
anymore. It is a
realization that
taps me on the shoulder, and
as I turn, caresses me
on the arm.

A realization that falls
(like gentle dew of mercy)
on puzzled parchment lips.

Later,
squeaky shoes on concrete
remind me that a mere
schoolboy has touched
– or has been touched by –
a spring of life.


Simple Gifts

In music, it sometimes feels as if there is nothing like the simple to confound. Never mind the profusion of technique – or technical terms, the endless showpieces that awe the stage, or the Top Ten Demanding Concertos of All Time; it is often those simple tunes (picked up in the throes of a melodic childhood, perhaps?) that stay with us throughout our lives, and especially at our darkest moments.

Songs – with or without words – hold with them an alluring power to charm, to comfort, and even to confide. Be it the rustic tones of Old Swanee River, the lush romanticism of Salut D’Amor, or the quiet playfulness that Humorosque so aptly lends itself to, many such simple pleasures are evergreen, suiting a plethora of moods and never tiring the listener.

But why? Why do these songs just stay there, hanging somewhere between our left and right ventricles, filling not just the windows but the holy of holies of our souls, and making our hearts grow fonder when they reverberate in silence? There must be some special quality that sets them apart from the rest – from the Sarasate and the Paganini, from the spiccatos and double-harmonics, from the dazzle and the whizz of those pieces that stun but do not exactly touch.

I believe not everyone will agree with me in my appreciation of simple beauty – after all, individual musicians look for different things in each piece. Still, I think there is a universal standard for ‘melodious’ that places ‘Blowing In The Wind’ in a distinctly separate category from any of John Cage’s experimentalist techniques.

The quest for the touching cannot be readily accomplished within the span of a mere ten years of musicianship, or the confines of a short essay. However, it is a question that ought to be answered – or at least pondered. Because this facet of music is what drives us to create and re-create ever more beautiful pieces, pieces that fulfill a very human thirst for good music.

Let us, then, in the pursuit of simpleness – simplicity – continue to pursue these short but crystalline songs that embody the above. And let us search for that mysterious lily of the valley that shines through a bare white petal.


Syntherella


Someday I wished upon a cloud
Amid my palace drear,
And thought how dull – this life I live
With all my servants near!


So then I called my merry men
To plan a merry ball;
Sent word throughout the merry land
To throw the ball to all.


The ball was one great glorious dance
A dance I’ll ne’er forget,
Yet it was not till the day drew close
That my greatest dance I met:


You fluttered up between the lids
Of the tired eyes I wore,
More simple yet more radiant than
All those I’d met before;


We danced like star-cross’d lovers dance
We stole the music sweet;
But as midnight chimed and lovers part’d,
You said time was not meet.


And then I don’t know what you dealt,
That changed my troubled life,
I only felt the kiss you gave,
That gently slicing knife.


A timid warm and hopeful touch
You planted on my lips,
But all I felt – a piercing tang –
Between my very ribs.


Abashed you called your train and ran,
My feet upon your trail,
But your carriage vanished in the night! –
Alas, my feet, are frail.


I caught my breath upon the lawn –
How Could I Miss Your Pumpkin Ride! –
But then – aha – your shoe I caught,
Your foot’s crystal confide.


My lips that called knew not your name,
But luck was in your shoe.
E’en when you’d left, that crystal glow
Seemed now a dream come true.


Wand’ring in my mind that night,
Your shadow told me this:
You left me looking for the one
Who gave that faery kiss.


I set to seek that which I lost –
Your immortal hand in mine.
For this is how we men must seek –
With an immortal dance in mind.


So till this day I’ve found you not, but
My heart is stead’ly burning,
‘Tis a heart that will go on, I say,
A heart to go on longing.