I filmed this video in New Orleans City Park, in search of what the books said was a Singing Tree. And find it I did - an old wise tree primed with wind chimes, which gave the most beautiful sonorous sounds when the winds passed by.
There was a group doing silent yoga, and a man lying down with his dogs, slowly running his fingers through their silky fur. I lay down on the soft grass, letting the shade, the soft tinkling, the birds tiny chirping and the winds caressing, first wash over me and then settle down on me.
There was poetry in the place.
First hear the poem. Above.
Then hear the Singing Tree. Below.
I hope both enchant you.
Music used in the video above is -
Heart Love by MusicLFiles
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/9259-heart-love
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
The poem:
Come.
Come softly.
Come when the heat of noon has still not dimmed.
Come when the streets have stopped asking questions.
Come when the world has left its own care to us.
Come.
Come to where I wait with my bare feet on the hot floor.
Come to the promise both you and I have yielded to.
Come before the day crumbles into disarray.
Come.
Come as afraid as if it’s the first time.
Come before the empty doors look at us accusingly.
Come so we don’t have to think of what we mean.
Come so all our answers have no questions left to be asked.
Come.
Come so we can sit and watch little clouds find their paths.
Come to know the fragility of what we are.
Come so we can let a luminous silence descend on us.
Come to be the air and light and the quiet we are meant to be.
Come.
Come.
Come here before we cross each other as strangers again.
Musings
In anticipation lies a whole universe. In the waiting lies the shape, the sound, the colour, the contour of beauty.
In a world strewn with disappointments, of truths with no spine, and lies with fashionable makeup on, often the only solace lies in the wonder and the dream. And particularly in love, anticipation is often the beginning, the glue, and the end. Particularly, as we wait...
Because in that hiatus of restless wait and emptiness, our heart and mind have conversations, nay, battles. There are questions asked, doubts raised, admonishments given. With great rapidity, joy and misery tumble around in a struggle for supremacy - there’s nothing real, but everything seems real. We dread excuses, we anticipate excuses, we destroy excuses.
In a span of few moments - minutes - which have the jaggedness of hours, hearts are deciphered, conclusions are drawn, decisions are hewn into stony consciousness. Everything seems fragile.
And then the wait finishes. Your love is there. The nervousness melts. Questions are unquestioned. Answers no longer require stilts. There is light. There is air. Before it all ends, there is life.
Hear this new episode from Uncut Poetry:
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