Wednesday, March 25, 2009
An Ode To My Friend, Tom
I hold my guitar
not knowing what to play
but play I must. It's the least
I can do for you and your pain.
Mindlessly, I start with a C minor
progressing to A minor, then F to G
until a steady rhythm takes shape.
Then I overlay it with a simple line
in pentatonic mode
stretching the strings to bend the notes
like a wailing ewe frantically calling its young
afraid it fallen prey by its enemies.
Tune turns to shrieks and howls
with every false harmonics taking it
an octave higher.
Distorted sounds emanate from my box
amplified cries from deep within my heart.
A teardrop falls
for a friend who needs a hand
to steady his gait while he watches
his loved one slowly disintegrate,
melting like a tiny candle,
its flickering light vulnerable
to the gentlest of breeze.
Lucky is that homeless, dirty child,
unmindful of the scorching heat,
his bare feet numbed to the flaming asphalt,
mouth frothing with sticky saliva,
begging for spare food.
He may be hungry
but at least he still has the gift of life.
I feel the pain of a friend
whose warm embrace with soft pats on my shoulder
I had the pleasure to enjoy
one cold, spring day in Vancouver.
His failing eyes glowed as he gathered me
in his arms. Her stately pose
seemed so sure,
shared with him the joy of meeting
a friend from far away
for the first time.
My guitar now shamelessly wails
as the melody rises in crescendo.
I cry, "While she has morphine to calm her nerves
he can only cry to wash away the pain."
My lament over, I get the key to put
the guitar in its case thinking
I wish he had his own keys to set fond memories free
he has kept inside the chambers of his heart.