Nikolina Hua’s Echo IV: Free Nations in C Minor is a richly allusive and labyrinthine poem that navigates the psychological depths of a mind deeply attuned to the inner soul and wider society. Its verses move like whispered confessions, cloaked in clever ambiguity and metaphors.
At first glance, the poem seems abstract—perhaps deliberately so. But beneath its surface lies a disquieting echo of societal upheaval, rendered not through direct reference, but via dreamlike symbolism. The lines ‘hair tangles with phosphorus’ and ‘cherry trees beneath imperial drones’ hint of gentle vulnerability in the midst of wider violence, although inflicted by whom, it is deliberately obscure and therefore readers can universally sympathize with the emotions evoked.
The musical motifs are particularly evocative to me as a composer, the term ‘C Minor’ harmonizes with the tension ubiquitous across the entire poem. The work is also terse, the stanzas are short and each line pauses frequently, almost in doubt. Apart from sounds, the poem is also deeply colourful in its imagery, such as ‘black ribbons freeze on unnamed streets’, or ‘fists gripping blue’, each colour a metaphor, yet of what?
The influence from Russian literature can be sensed from the psychological undercurrents: an obsession with guilt, a longing for seeking meaning onto a world that resists coherence. These themes are Dostoyevskian in texture—one can almost feel the spectral presence of Notes from Underground in the speaker’s intellectual and affective isolation. Yet, despite the linguistic artistry being of specific provenance, its message speaks universally to the human condition.
The choice for obscurity instead of clarity is in itself a strength. By being a cryptic mirror, it invites the readers to find their own struggles within the poem’s ambiguous torment. By being obscure, Echo IV: Free Nations in C Minor ends up revealing so much more about ourselves.
Full poem can be found here
FREE NATIONS IN C MINOR
Orcs gnawed the capital’s door,
cherry trees scream beneath imperial drones.
Existence is a slit throat.
Hair tangles with phosphorus,
ghost hymns ride through occupied smoke.
Speech chokes on its own tongue.
Black ribbons freeze on unnamed streets.
Bones in gloves, fists gripping blue,
nails scrape through basement rust.
Hands remember what mouths can’t speak.
A million fingers pull the tyrant down.
This is how I claw myself free:
Change this. Change that. Never turn back
or the money drags you down
ankle-first into wolves’ den.
Beating grief against their ribs,
free nations sing in C minor.
The dark sea holds its breath.
Ng Yu Hng is an award-winning composer whose works explore musical time, liturgy, and intertextual dialogue. He holds a Master’s from the Royal Academy of Music (Countess of Munster scholar) and a King’s College London alum, winning the Purcell Prize. His music has been performed across 15 countries and published internationally, with commissions from ensembles worldwide.