The dance of words

21 Oct

Have you ever wondered about how words sound? Ever wondered about the hues movement paints? Or how a novel tastes? Have you ever imagined poets as musicians? Or dancers as painters? Have you ever wondered if your nose could hear? Or if your eyes could taste?

Poets twisting their words into rhymes, creating a melody of notes bobbing up and down in a rhythmic pattern in the reader’s mind. The forlorn ballad sounds like a melancholic wail. The words of a revolutionary poem land like the crack of a whip by the general on horseback. The romantic poems surge through your body like the sound of a flute, flowing smoothly through your blood and landing into your heart, making it flutter with every different note, with every different word. And sometimes, just sometimes, you chance upon a piece of poetry where you can hear the guitar, the piano, the flute, the violin, all together, merging into each other till they sound one, and yet posses their distinguishing identity, rising to a crescendo and the last words of the poem falling like a calm wave washing over the shore.

When you dance, and dance with your heart, like noone is watching, like you are on top of a platform on the apex of earth, your feet soon seem to move on their own. You succumb to the magic and lose yourself to the volcanoes of passion and freedom bursting inside. Every movement of yours feels as swift as the brush stroke of an artist on a plain canvas. Every twirl of yours while you pirouette feels like the rapid yet rythmic movement of the brush as the painter creates a whirlpool on his blank page, tapering its end to a mere dot as you gradually slow down to a top, resting on your toes. You sweep around the dancefloor as you waltz, closing your eyes to really feel the beauty, and you see the beautiful colours of love the brush sweeps on the canvas. You move on to another dance style and every somersault, every cartwheels, every leap that you take looks like the splashes the painter makes on the wall, suspending in the air for a fraction of a second, and then landing neatly on the wall, just as you land on your feet. You exist in a peaceful dichotomy with the brush, becoming one and then again dividing into two in the blink of an eye. You then come down from the platform, exhilarated, almost expecting to see the soles of your feet to be smeared with paint, because for a while, instead of the brush, it was you on the canvas.

The words in a passage, the passages in a page, the pages in a novel, sometimes they all seem to be coated with a certain flavour. When the gallant knight professes his undying love for the beautiful maiden and she flings herself into his open arms, your mouth fills with a gush of sweet honey, spreading its warmth and sweetness all over your heart. The lone man sways slowly on the boat as he sails over still waters and a star lit sky, and you feel yourself swaying similarly, drunk on the best vintage wine. And when the author speaks of the sunny sky and open meadows and the fragrance of lavender blooming everywhere, your mouth is filled with the flavour of the dreamiest thing you have ever tasted. I taste strawberries.

Some of the best poems were actually the most melodious music I have heard. Sometimes when I dance, I marvel the beautiful painting my feet painted. And sometimes even the best chocolate bar cannot compare to the novel I just tasted.

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One Response to “The dance of words”

  1. Nicholas May 12, 2014 at 11:42 am #

    ther u go again … placing chocolate as lower priority -_-
    well written and well said though ;D
    it’s always quite the rush whn reading or watchin a scene nd u feel somthin besides emotions welling up frm within … guess this counts as well now ^_^

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