I take my balalaika down from the wall.
Its notes tell the story of my broken heart.
The chorus repeats:
you are gone, you are gone.
How still is my heart,
now you are gone.
The balalaika sings of
all I have lost.
Its notes weep the tears
that I keep in my heart, hidden,
until I take my balalaika
down from the wall.
for Interpretations By Margaret at Real Toads: Musical Instruments
A lovely piece, a song!
ReplyDeleteSherry, wasn't this a magical prompt? I'm in love with it, the instruments themselves & their histories. You have captured the song of the balalaika beautifully. Thanks for sharing. :)
ReplyDeletethis is so beautiful,Sherry. My beloved dead father played the instrument. He was Hungarian.
ReplyDeleteThank you for this beautiful poem/song.
Jane
beautifully written Sherry with a bitter/sweet taste
ReplyDeletemuch love...
interesting informative -could hear the strumming
ReplyDeleteSuch mourning in this, and yet so much hope. Just excellent, Sherry.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for all your kind comments lately. Sorry it's been awhile since I've been over. Just subscribed, to remedy that! :)
Been missing you, neighbor/sister; liked your song-poem, very exotic.
ReplyDeleteThis:
ReplyDelete"Its notes tell the story of my broken heart"
... and the last six lines, my goodness.
This just shows how much you can convey (pain, or otherwise) in not very many words at all.
I love this piece, Sherry. The music, the repetition, what it says about the relationship between music (art), memory and healing.
ReplyDeletelonely, sad, yearning poem. This part is just beautiful "Its notes weep the tears that I keep in my heart, hidden,until I take my balalaika down from the wall....
ReplyDeleteBalalaika, itself, is such a musical word! This song is a melancholy one, tied to memory and also the fading of youth.
ReplyDeleteThere is a melancholy in such music... maybe it mirrors the north noir, something that if you are from our part of the world you would need either music or vodka to soothe.. (maybe booth)
ReplyDeleteWonderfully sung. Quite moving. Appreciate you sharing.
ReplyDeleteSad, Sherry. But music CAN be a comfort.
ReplyDeleteIsn't it strange the feelings that are evoked when we meet again with objects that we were once very familiar with? I have a few of these here and there around the house, mostly in places that are reserved for me, but open to whoever might wish to peek in.
ReplyDeleteOur seven-year-old granddaughter likes to handle and play with my old toys (or do what should be done with the objects), my collection of police whistles is a good example. She doesn't get the same feeling as I do when blow one, but she does feel closer to me when she blows.
The other day she played with one of my cast iron car collection pieces, a 1964.5 Mustang. I had her be careful of the mirrors but she broke the gearshift off "carrying" a package in the open car. I may glue it back on, having it broken though, is a part of OUR experience with the toy.
..
There are so many songs in tears, beautifully bittersweet.
ReplyDeleteYes - but the memories will enrich us. Very melancholy and dear.
ReplyDelete