Where Are You Now

Where Are You Now – Imany 

Days had gone into nights and nights had gone into days – And everyday gone count one thousand days in my life.  “I’ve learned that waiting is the most difficult bit, and I want to get used to the feeling, knowing that you’re with me, even when you’re not by my side.”

 

 Lyrics:

I see a picture in a frame
I see a face without a name
Riding alone on an empty train
Where are you

I live in a house of broken hearts
Leaves are falling in the park
Every day is a question mark
Where are you

I would drive through the rain (to find you)
Walk a desert plain (behind you)
You could unlock these chains (untie to)
Where are you now

Through the storm I call your name (to guide you)
Love could be the flame (beside you)
If you unlock these chains (untie to)
Where are you now

Lying in my room at night
Silhouettes are dressed in white
Waiting for the morning light
Where are you

Each day you live and learn
As the wheels of heaven turn
For you my candle burns
Where are you

I would drive through the rain (to find you)
Walk a desert plain (behind you)
You could unlock these chains (untie to)
Where are you now

Through the storm I call your name (to guide you)
Love could be the flame (beside you)
If you unlock these chains (untie to)
Where are you now

so far
Out there, I can almost touch you
You’re here in my mind all the time
Where are you now

to find you
Walk a desert plain (behind you)
You could unlock these chains (untie to)
Where are you now

Through the storm (through the storm) I call your name (to guideyou)
Love could be the flame (beside you)
If you unlock these chains (untie to)
Where are you, where are you now

Walk a desert plain (behind you)
If you’d unlock these chains (untie to)
Where are you now

Songwriters: Scott English / Phil Manikiza / Simon Stirling
Where Are You lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Sweet Harmony

Sweet Harmony

There is no wind blowing
The tree stands green, serene.
It enjoys the bird’s singing
And wonders: ‘What does it mean? ‘

Blessed by this soft rain
Both the bird and the tree
Keep singing tunes again
Flooding the earth with glee!

The bird’s chants soar above the tree
This one feels nurtured by them
Its leaves dancing onto the sea
Where the bird goes and treasures them!

Absences

Absences

Smear out the last star.
No lights from the islands
Or hills. In the great square
The prolonged vowel of silence
Makes itself plainly heard
Round the ghost of a headland
Clouds, leaves, shreds of bird
Eddy, hindering the wind.

No vigils left to keep.
No enemies left to slaughter.
The rough roofs of the slopes,
Loosely thatched with splayed water,
Only shelter microliths and fossils.
Unwatched, the rainbows build
On the architraves of hills.
No wounds left to be healed.

Nobody left to be beautiful.
No polyp admiral to sip
Blood and whiskey from a skull
While fingering his warships.
Terrible relics, by tiderace
Untouched, the stromalites breathe.
Bubbles plop on the surface,
Disturbing the balance of death.

No sound would be heard if
So much silence was not heard.
Clouds scuff like sheep on the cliff.
The echoes of stones are restored.
No longer any foreshore
Or any abyss, this
World only held together
By its variety of absences.

Little Birds

Mihran Kalaydjian, CHA Consultant,

Writer and Strategist

 

Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
Gorgeous in their gaiters –
I’ve a Tale to tell.

Little Birds are feeding
Justices with jam,
Rich in frizzled ham:
Rich, I say, in oysters
Haunting shady cloisters –
That is what I am.

Little Birds are teaching
Tigresses to smile,
Innocent of guile:
Smile, I say, not smirkle –
Mouth a semicircle,
That’s the proper style!

Little Birds are sleeping
All among the pins,
Where the loser wins:
Where, I say, he sneezes
When and how he pleases –
So the Tale begins.

Little Birds are writing
Interesting books,
To be read by cooks:
Read, I say, not roasted –
Letterpress, when toasted,
Loses its good looks.

Little Birds are playing
Bagpipes on the shore,
Where the tourists snore:
“Thanks!” they cry. “‘Tis thrilling!
Take, oh take this shilling!
Let us have no more!”

Little Birds are bathing
Crocodiles in cream,
Like a happy dream:
Like, but not so lasting –
Crocodiles, when fasting,
Are not all they seem!

Little Birds are choking
Baronets with bun,
Taught to fire a gun:
Taught, I say, to splinter
Salmon in the winter –
Merely for the fun.

Little Birds are hiding
Crimes in carpet-bags,
Blessed by happy stags:
Blessed, I say, though beaten –
Since our friends are eaten
When the memory flags.

Little Birds are tasting
Gratitude and gold,
Pale with sudden cold:
Pale, I say, and wrinkled –
When the bells have tinkled,
And the Tale is told.