Sunday, 19 October 2014

A poem

                                "She played the balalaika" ~A poem by Ronnie  (Jan '14)

As they walked closer to the light of the fire in the distance
their ears began to hear strange sounds in the wind
A gentle soft melody broken by the trees rustling overhead
The silohettes could be made out as they drew closer
Everyone gathered round forming a circle around the chitty
The atmosphere was electric
silent but for this beautiful music coming from one woman
she was sat on a small stool by the edge of the fire
and in her lap she held a triangular shaped guitar
But it did not sound like anything they'd heard from before
the notes flowed together gently
unlike the strumming from a guitar
It was so peaceful
so captivating
that they just stopped and stared
scared to break her rythme
On she played her fingers moving over the three strings
It was so provoking
timeless
It took them all to a different cultural space
Yet all still rooted to the spot in the woods
She played many pieces
Olde Russian songs she knew from her homeland
before she stopped
smiled
and stood up throwing the instrument gently over her shoulders
Bidding everyone goodnight as she retired to her wagon

She played the balalaika
and that night was the first time I came across its music
The music that will live on in my heart
always and forever
I felt priviledged
Even after many years I can still
no matter where I am
close my eyes and be transported back to that night
by the fire
to the night the balalaika captured my ears
my heart
my soul
and I am eternally grateful.