When life’s enchanting tune is silenced,

be it abruptly or by slow decline,

and each the stood partakers of it’s dance obtain their couch in turn –

when such portion is mine,

and melody turns into memory

and memory to dust,

and dust disperses in the air to be requited once again to dust,

a fragile, muted air so gently whispered,

so distant to the strain of wishful ears shall be

the remnant of my memory –

a tune so briskly played

and soon forgotten.

 

 

© Shiku Wangombe

 

Perhaps this poem signaled the onset of my quarter life crisis. Yet if that’s the case, then it came somewhat prematurely, since I wrote it about 2 years ago I think (around the age of 22). I believe the work is somewhat self-explanatory: we’re all a part of this dance called life, and one day the music will stop for each and every one of us be it suddenly, or gradually. The poem touches not only on the brevity of life, but also on how quickly evidence of us is erased  over time not only from the earth, but from the memories of everyone left behind.

I share this as I’m reflecting on how fast life goes by. I turn 25 tomorrow. I’m still young – at least that’s what everyone older than me tells me 😀 –  but it surprises me how fast all that time went. It feels like I was a teenager only yesterday, now I’m halfway to 30. Good Lord.

But the poem isn’t supposed to incite dismay. Rather, I hope through it, you think about how you want to be remembered; what would you like to leave behind even when your own melody is done? Then go out there and make it happen.

I know I will.