Tongue foreknown yet unknown

“Do you remember what Darwin says about music? He claims that the power of producing and appreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of speech was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are so subtly influenced by it. There are vague memories in our souls of those misty centuries when the world was in its childhood”.- Aurthur Conan Doyle I could not help reblogging this post, when I came across that quote, because that is what I almost meant in my poem, it so wonderful sometimes to find resonating thoughts turn up in different ways and in such quotes. It is sometimes so difficult to speak or connect with people even when you really want to, there are so many barriers that have been built in the structure we have given to our lives. But Music and Poetry is that one level that can walk through those walls if the souls listen at the same wavelengths. Sometimes I find language, words so very limiting, because they are like the middleman, trying to express what the soul is breathing as it thinks. But you see, a bit of the exhaled breath is lost,but music ain’t like that. Many a times silence suits better,  it weaves and portrays much more. Though poetry does channel it well, it is almost like music or should I say it is music. Good music gives one a high, but the one must listen, really listen. http://www.shortlist.com/entertainment/books/30-famous-authors-on-music#gallery-16

I am just going to share this link I came across, couldn’t help this sudden impromptu post. Happy Writing, singing, reading..creating basically:)

Thoughts

Tongue Foreknown Yet Unknown

Heart pines for the soul that rises to speak in a tongue foreknown yet unknown, un-bred, untamed..

A soul found in itself, or in the gatherings of mortals..

But mortals speak in language divided,

Immortal fore-born incantations scattered beneath the burden of learnt dialects..

A magic waits to be reawakened from the holy waters of a newborn’s innocence,

It dwells not on mere designs, written and learnt expressions, tickles of defined sensations,

But to the poetry in man’s wonder, wide-eyed blended in whole and earthed in absolute to his virgin nature..

Pure as a child even as he rose on his limbs reaching for raw or ripened fruits he knew not of..

None knew the other; none knew the cause for existence, None pined for a mere sense of purpose..

None knew of the lands stretched afar, none knew of the seas that gulped the air…

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