"Sing to Me"

Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!

The sun rose, birds chirped and the wind sang with the most powerful harmony but
whistled so soft. And I remember how soft you skin used to feel pressed against mine.
And your voice had to most beautiful mezzo tone soprano. And I guess that your voice
needed to be, as he plucked your strings and you became the melody to his instrument.

And he

Plucked, strumming his fingers on your rib caged pain (pane). And your voice screamed
and gave jammed notes and coughed up blood. And your vocal strings plucked and
broke and he apologized once again when your strings plucked and broke because he
couldn't put your face back together.

And I remember when you met him! And you said that his music notes played a melody
that drove your harmonies to high places; and o' what a joy it would have been just to be
in his good graces.

And he plucks!

Harder

With more sincerity and he strummed a little longer just so that your

Voice

Could have

His

Clarity.

And I never knew that pain music could sound so good!

And you, in return sang and poured your heart out to marinate it in your tears as you
allowed him to pull your vocal cords to strain out the pain. I remember when you used to
love making music with him Anice.

I remember when it was me! And yes; I loved making music exploring the depts. of
various genres until you became his sub-genre when his playbook started to fill up. And I
remember the bewildered look on your face when he told you that he had found another
woman to take the lead; but you would always be his number one singer.

So once again, he made you project your broken heart in front of a audience full of
valuable players; and jazz music is supposed to be soothing for the ears and relaxing for
the heart.

And he was the musician and you gave the lead vocals for the band (sing me a song).
And he held and played you just like… his Spanish guitar; passionate, dedicated and
when he knew that he had a hit he brought you out.

Beat

Plucked

And

Strummed

On your vocal cords until he knew that your voice could strain and his music could play
the most versatile melodies that even your vocal key wouldn't be able to change its pitch.

And I could see that when you stood on that stage the tears rolled down your face

And the look in your eyes said that you wished that one day your mouth would close, head would

Bow

His instrument would drop and you would finally be free from being his instrument bitch…

Anice

And all I wanted him to do was sing to me

Written by Anice Enkrein

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