Prokofiev Symphony #5

A story of a musician

He walks from his humble 

Apartment on Tenth Street 

Still recalling a nebulous hint of a melody

That he'd heard in his dream last night. 

The homeless woman asks him 

For change, like he is anyone else. 

No passerby takes a second glance. 

Nobody can feel the lucent music

Pining from beneath his fingertips, 

Begging to be released 

Into the cocoon of Symphony Hall,

Into the mason jars of peoples souls, 

To light their inspired journeys:

The soundtrack of a city night. 

In the Hall he changes

Into black: sleek, sophisticated, 

And we stare at him, mesmerized 

With moons of the city lights

Stuck, quavering, like a reflection

In the water of young eyes.  

We lean into the music, 

Breathe the Russian Symphony in a trance, 

And the musician becomes everything, 

Fills every space between the disks 

In our backs with breaths of beats. 

The concert ends, the moons in our eyes

Fade, invite the city lights to replace

Their reflections as they travel another journey. 

And the musician walks a block away

From the theater, to his humble apartment

On Tenth Street, once again, 

Unrecognizable. Moons of music eclipsed

By ignorance, but the corners

Of his mouth turn up at the 

Melody of the Prokofiev, and the magic

In his conductors baton. He passes 

A homeless woman with a cart, 

And realizes he is just like everyone else. 

Reviews

[Pankaj Lohia]

very rhetorical... brilliantly written. I am amazed by the use of words and metaphors in this poem. you truly are a great writer.

[Dana Alsamsam]

thank you so much for this kind review and for taking the time to read. truly, i appreciate this very much.

[Pankaj Lohia]

Its my pleasure dana.. you seem to have a middle eastern name. kind of Jordanian :)

[Dana Alsamsam]

Yes! i'm syrian actually, but I live in america

[Pankaj Lohia]

oh syria.. hmm.. nicee.. yes i've seen your blog. Its kinda cool :)