The Pianist

13 01 2011

Her eyes brim with pleasure
As she takes her seat.
She straightens,
Touches the white skeletal keys,
Afraid to disturb their slumber.
Gently she caresses them

Pauses once

With a deep sigh she presses down with a force
That causes a single deep and melancholy note to erupt
From the massive structure of the piano.

She smiles.

Her fingers flood suddenly with unplayed music;
She coaxes it from her ancient piano,
Sets it free.

I’ve already talked about my photography in aveschordata.  Maybe it’s time talk about my piano playing too.  I”m not good at it.  OK.  But I know how, I can read notes and can’t play without them.

I get a little too high whenever I play with my ebonies and ivories.  It always starts with the music each keys produce as I press on them.  This music will go inside my fingers, through my arms, straight to my heart, inside my head, and will spread all over my body.  My whole being will be filled with this music that it’s only fitting and proper to release them back to my playing through my fingers too.  I have to give back what my piano is giving to me because if I don’t, I’ll explode.  This will go on and on ’till the piece ended.  Then I’ll play another piece, everything will be the same again, but this time, I get a little higher.  My mind will fly now and land on different subjects.  Then the second piece will end.  Time to play the third piece.  This is where I get a little too high, my mind will fly again…only this time, I’ll lose focus that will make my fingers land on the wrong keys.  I have to shake my head to get back on the normal level of highness.  Tut-tut!

My piano playing helps me think properly.  It relaxes my mind.

Oh, and I don’t know the author of that poem.  I can’t find it in Google.  I got it from the About Me section of my Friendster account. 😀




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