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The Pianist


The grand piano bites your hands with jagged teeth.
You don’t let up. I watch you play Beethoven
As if there’s essence in your notes and life is brief.

The curtains rise. You leave the window opened.
You bleed in front of me. I dare not look away.
At once, a mortal and a god, you’re omnipotent.

The harmony takes shape; what a superb array
Of colors, forms and barely whispered texts!
Your fingers tame the wild keys and they

Rush to respond to you, one faster than the next,
Preceding you before the page is turned.
The melody is frantic; simple, yet complex.

Your eyes fixated, tranquil, calm and stern.
They take no note of me. They are sublime.
You're elsewhere, -- in another place, another time.

The last few notes and suddenly, your hands fall dead
Into some endless void. No echo. Only silence…
Then, wearily you rise, with half-closed eyelids,
As though a dreamer rising out of bed.