Audience of One



She plays to an audience of one,

battered fingers repeating notes

that remind her of the summer rain

(la lluvia de verano),

that fell in arpeggios on the courtyard

where the jasmin bloomed.


Gone are the flowers

(all the colour),

yet their perfume lingers

in the bedsheets

where she surrendered to his overtures,

the percussive beats of the bed against the wall.


In this departure she is locked,

craving forgotten melodies

to satisfy the orchestra in her heart,

the piano her soul companion

(and confidante)

to the symphonies of the past.


Her soul bleeds onto ivory

and storm clouds swell on the savannah

(the wastelands of her mind),

she rides the thunder in her left hand,

a rain of tears upon the keys,

she plays to an audience of one.


(c) Darren Hawbrook


p.s. to the owner of the image: I found this photo in several places on tumblr but couldn’t find the source. If you happen on my blog let me know and I will credit or remove.

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