he shuffles through the halls
english books
clutched to his chest
head down, slightest of smiles
afraid to be asked
should he not understand
and even if so
afraid his accent
would render the answer useless
but today would be different
as he stood in front of his class
bow cradled in his palm
violin tucked under his chin
as it had so many times at home
in his land left behind
but not forgotten
notes sing sweetly
with an eloquence
he does not have in the
clunky awkward language
he studies
finally limited only
by what he chooses
to express
or not
his heart unfettered
in their delight and awe
he finds recognition
for who he was
and who he still is
hope stirs within
this new world
still might hold
that sacred gift
which keeps him
trying
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We can have all the knowledge in the universe, but it still comes down to only one thing - practice. (Crescent Moon Bear Fable, as recounted by C.P. Estes)
I'm a writer of several genres: young adult, speculative fiction, and non-fiction. I seek to unearth the extraordinary in the ordinary and share what I find with others.
About Me
- Roxanne
- Check out my other webpage that documents my writing adventures: www.roxannefelix.com
Quote of the Moment
A tree gives glory to God by being a tree ~ Thomas Merton
12 comments:
Beautiful poem about this young man struggling to adjust to his new land. Made me want to know more about him, where he came from, who he belongs to/his family;
well done, Honour.
oh yes i'm free now
with my tongue...
in my hand
fingers touching the sounds
returning from my mother land
how i've missed to talk
to tell of my little
Self
and the way
today i could walk...
my mouth shut
i tell of 'is' and 'is not'
everyone listens
with appreciating eyes
my tongue goes on and on
notes wear dresses of words
and a forgotten image
soars up again in my world
a pair of eyes is on me
gazing
shining brighter than the light
telling me silently
of a language
ending my lonely night
i play my notes
mouth... shut
she listen to me
mouth... shut
we understand each other...
we talk to each other
in the only language there is...
Honour, thank you for your beautiful post (and gift) on my blog.
This poem is so beautiful, and like Lynn, it leaves me wanting to know more about this young man. I also like the message of keep going, keep the focus and be true to what is important to you.
Thanks so much Honour!
Powerful
The power of spirit
Of music
Of language
And of confidence...
Stopping by your blog and started reading this poem about the young man and feeling so sorry for him, but then my breath actually caught when he started with his violin...
I have a son that is shy, but when he picks up his guitar and uses his gift...
Honour,
I just read your three most recent posts after the sweet surprise of a comment at my blog. The idea of a personal brand is tantalizing, and it sure does seem that one's blog would provide best indicators of the spirit of a person. "Freedom" really touched me: the young man seems like someone I know; I bought a violin last summer after taking a week-long workshop and thought I'd be in lessons by now. My teacher's mother is quite ill so I must be patient. But how exciting to find a little reminder in your poem to not let go of the dream.
I, too, will be back to read more.
Lydia
Beautiful poem and portrait. Music crosses all borders of language. And each one of us has a violin of one kind or another inside us, waiting to shine and play. Waiting to be shared with others.
Thanks for stopping by. I will definitely read the book you suggested. Every time I read one, I get more insight... Thanks again. Love your poems! KC
Fantastic poem - i liked "in his land left behind, but not forgotten" - made me think about how strange it feels when you go somewhere new
Keep on writing - talent will win out in the end
This is so lovely.
When I was a teacher in the US, I had a student with a very unusual Chinese name, which, when I started to read it from the register said, "You can call me Don".
He was in special ed because he had some learning difficulties. He always sat in the front row.
He was charming and different and the other 11th grade lids called him Don-Don - but not meanly.( and they could be mean sometimes - believe me)
On the other hand,he used to play an antique Chinese instrument at concerts in New York.
His mother gave me a pretty red silk and jade key ring/charm which I still use every day - seven years later.
Your lovely poem reminded me of Don.
I'm glad the protagonist found a way to express himself.
Thank you all for your comments - it strikes me how many of you seem to personally connect to this story, either because it reminds you of your own experiences, or just by empathizing with the character.
I especially enjoyed hearing about some of the people that have been in your lives, that this poem seemed to remind you of.
The little event that inspired the poem was in an English-as-a-Second-Language class in my agency. He played a Chinese folk song, and two other Chinese students in the class cried upon hearing a song from their homeland. Other students were mightily impressed. It was a touching day.
Welcome Kim, Lydia and KC - I hope you drop by again.
And to all my other friends who passed by and continue to offer encouragement --- thank you!!
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