My Piano Story

Waiting for the Fourth Piano

In my school days,
the day a piano first arrived in our home,
I could not fall asleep.

All night long,
I lay awake with open eyes.

I welcomed
a piano like a great black box,
standing quietly before me.

For days on end,
through night and day,
even in the early mornings,
I played the piano.

On the day the floods swept in,
my love,
my gentleman in a black tailcoat,
the piano soaked with water—

With a heart as heavy
as its great weight,
I had to send it away.

For a while,
I lived without a piano.

Then I met my second piano.

A beautiful German piano,
graceful in wine-red,
with soft shades of magenta—
I encountered her, like destiny,
in a small neighbourhood second-hand shop.

With tears by the handful,
then by the armful,
I played her, singing as I cried.
She comforted
my fiercely lonely, hollow heart—
that captivating lady in wine-red…

One day,
the time came
when I had to let her go,
all by myself.

After that,
I missed her
for a very long time.

In the house I moved into,
there was a piano
the landlord had left behind—
a deep shade of burnt umber.

For a while,
it became my friend.

I played the piano endlessly,
and I was truly happy.

When it was time to leave that house,
to that well-worn friend,
holding my songs
and my warmth within,
I said a sorrowful goodbye.

Will I ever have
a fourth piano?

Perhaps, one day, I will.

If I can finally settle,
without moving from place to place,
then—
as if meeting a destined benefactor,
like a blessing—
it will come to me.

A piano to live with,
a piano that will be truly mine—
I long to have one.

I long to be together again.

*these are my own paintings*