[Part I]

When a playing record screeches
Like the scream of a delirious dervish
I am reminded of love;
So well composed and musical
Like every note humming softly from the record
Tuning a tuneless ear to jump to life
Like a lively puppy chasing shadows
Love, so warm and tingly to feel
When it plays round and round without a halt
But when it dies; when love dies
Like a spoilt record it stops
Splitting the ever tuned ear into parts
And muffling all the tune therein
The once soulful singing drum lies dying
And where once soft notes sprung fills with noise…
For love died.

© chrispus kimaru