The window was open
Like a door to walk through
The lilac bush was all bloom
But without the aroma
Of blooms he once knew
The teeth of a hippo
Made the piano clavier
But not the sadness
When he touched the “la”
It all ends
In Pure Minor
With an E
And three semitones
With no scales to remember
But it was not Sunday yet
And the window looked over a field
Of coquelicot
Fearing the slightest wind
That will make them shiver
Like unspoken words
¡Trste domingo!
July 7, 2021
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2021
No comments:
Post a Comment