Lost in translation

Fumbling with letters, feelings and the multiple voices in your head- a curious patch work of words clumsily sewn together which transform into one of those fancy quilts that adorn your bed. So much and I mean so much is always lost in translation.

Beautiful, poignant words; of the poetic kind can lift your spirits like a jesting wind raise those fallen leaves in autumn- just an inch before the wind dies down. But there is a mad rush: a flurry of excitement which precedes this inevitable death that can be read in the collective swish of leaves being picked up and dropped. This is what beautiful words do to you. There is a soaring feeling inside which dies an eventual death.

But in that brief instant of soaring, you experience a million worlds erupt within you, of watching fireworks burst into the night sky and of feeling more alive and more real than what you have ever experienced before. 

long after the music is heard no more.

Sometimes it takes a special kind of hearing to hear most of the words that are left unsaid, even when the obvious reality prods you into hearing otherwise- there is always some music playing in the background. You need to strain your ears to hear it but when you can do that, you will feel the music engulfing you in its soft, feathery grip as you viscerally feel your heart soaring and plummeting to the rhythm.

And long after the final cadences are played out, you can still hear the music around you as it trails farther off, leaving a wispy haze behind.