Red, heavy velvet curtains are drawn aside,
behold, orchestra members taking their places,
gliding smoothly across the laminate floor,
delicately taking up beloved, worn-out instruments;
—a finger presses a key, joined by others,
and the first drops of rain begin to fall in adagio as
the player reveals his soul through a dance,
Allegro, allegro! and a new sound joins in...
—the first long mournful sigh, almost unheard,
soon followed by louder, sad yet playful tweets
and whistles, imitating the songs of nature's flutists,
Forte, fortissimo! and there's a deep boom of bass...
—the beats tap to the rhythms of quick Riverdancing feet
and to the ever-changing pace of being broken and repaired,
steadily stealthy just as the movements of the earth beneath,
beckoned to pick up the speed, the volume; a soft screech...
—fingertips bleed their memories into the grieving strings,
recalling the joyous touches of a lover long gone and this
memory is transferred onto the bow, the echoes of these lives
rattling in the soundboxes, taking us further, deeper into a trance...
—there's an accelerando, a crescendo, and more and more
players join in, in this cacophony of harmonious melody, notes
forgotten on their stands as they play their love, joy, longing, grief,
for nobody in particular yet for someone specifically special;
—a whisper for diminuendo, a ritardando, and one by one, slow,
the instruments fall into silence, 'til only the piano remains:
the rain stops falling, and all is quiet... there is no applause,
for the audience left, ears and hearts closed, afraid this
concert could be the swansong of their lies.