They surf the waves in my veins till they reach my extremities, my toes curl as the minor key shivers through me.
Modulation
I can’t quite remember where this poem came from. I took part in a poetry competition called I Know I Wish I Will in 2019/20 and submitted Modulation but I’m not sure if I wrote it specifically for that or if it already existed beforehand. I’ve always been puzzled by the fact that I love sad songs, melancholy melodies. This poem is me trying to work out why. I’ve linked a video of me performing Modulation on a friend’s Instagram Live. Like, comment, all that jazz. Hope you enjoy 🙂
Also – Modulation was published in a book. Pretty cool!
My heart is a home for many sad melodies. They are always on the tip of my tongue or beating the drum of my ears. They surf the waves in my veins till they reach my extremities, my toes curl as the minor key shivers through me. But their home is in my heart. Some of my heartsongs flew to me on the wind. Anyone could have mistaken them for birdsong, but I recognised that plaintive tune that I knew birds were immune to. These were the songs of children, the whispers of women, the sighs of men. They were far away, and we were separated by languages and time zones and the apathy of the news anchor who told me their stories. And yet-the same wind that chilled their bones chilled mine and as it brought their melodies I listened-and understood. Some of my heartsongs were born when I was but I’m only now learning how to sing them. Their cadences were carved by the jagged edges of my childhood home, but their rhythm is straight, unyielding, jarring to the ear. But when I roll these songs around in my mouth the bitter taste of their beats becomes sweet I meet these songs and hear their story, and I offer them a home in my heart. I too am a composer, you know. I have drawn staves and bar lines on my skin, And inscribed a treble clef where my veins should have been. I have whispered my song to God in the night. But not all my melodies look black under the spotlight, I don’t only sing the blues. The bruises of life can look beautiful to the ears but so too can a friend’s laughter as it crescendos and the intimacy of tremolo, bow against string. I have even learned to love the sound of the stillness after the final chord. I have learned to change keys.
stay curious and well read
The World in Verse 