Words and Symphonies

Bill Ivans Gbafore
3 min readOct 17, 2022

- A Prologue

Photo by Everton Vila on Unsplash

The most exciting rhythms seem unexpected and complex, the most beautiful melodies simple and inevitable. — W.W. Auden

The other day I was reading Nikita Gill’s ``Your Body is an Ocean ‘’ and she confessed, “I am going to write about us. And it won’t be the list you asked for. It will be a novel of a thousand pages, embedded in a million tears.” Nikita moves the collection of poems in a crescendo, each evoking a higher emotion than the previous — like a heartbeat rising as you move your lips closer to a crush’s for the first time under the moonlight. The art is life. The poetry is seismic. The words are stringed in an adorable motion. The symbolism is concrete. The clarity is effervescent. Nikita’s attempt to explore the depth of a lover’s body as an ocean is intriguing and daring all at once. It is daunting and heartening. It is adventurous yet Sisyphean. With dexterity and poise something beautiful is created from a void, or from love, or from a body.

Today I want to write about you, and us. Not about your body only, but your soul. I want to write about our experiences and the processes in between. I want to write about the polarity and monotony of our existence — how we are beautiful on many fronts, no matter how diverging. There are no words enough but there are a few alphabets for us to begin anew and tell a story. To relish our moments. To erect a cathedral of hope from the ruins of our past. In these notes, I want to talk about how we’ve rolled our fragmented pieces into bundles of joy and now there’s meaning to sunrise with the blue-jays singing, and the larks calling. It is because you are here with the permanence of your being. That’s why every morning I wake up and write a line or two to you, smile at the words, hold it close to my heartbeat, crumple the paper and throw it across the floor. Incomplete stories. Short poems. Drafts everywhere. I still don’t know where to start. I still don’t know where to begin. All words fail.

How do people learn how to write love stories? How do they strike the first chords to produce music at all? I’ve lived the music transcendentally and dwelled at its crest; I’ve mastered the cadence and hues, but my fingers are still stiff and I don’t want to strike a dissonance. I want to write a song that befits you. I want to write a song that will caress your heart and set your soul on fire, reaching the limits of your wildest imagination, touching infinity. I want to play a music that embodies your being and mirrors your soul. I want to write about you, I want to write about us too, but how do I even begin?

For music, (I’ve learned from de Lamartine) is the literature of the heart, it commences where the speech ends. I want to write a music for you — filled with words and symphonies.

Bill Ivans Gbafore

Bibliophile, Lover of Culture, Arts, Economics, and Lifestyle