Marieta Maglas

Rookie - 795 Points (19-05-1964 / Radauti, Judet Suceava, Romania)

Moving Hieroglyphs

You compose that sonata as you are eager
to analyze the exquisite crush
of some ideas. I listen to you
while admiring 'The Sky'
painted with scissors by Henri Matisse. Those white
birds flying look like
moving hieroglyphs. So different
seems to be this new Sunday

dawn in our old secreting sun! The woven web
of some golden rays
forms intricate, catching spirals
of life. Your piano composition

is about a few rising dreams and falling angels, while this unique rocking


is slowly whitening
your hair.On a chair
looking like those that are found in the cut and curl salons,
there are forgotten
two Mizutani shears.
Our salon
is not destined for cut and curl, but for the meeting
between many artists only.

The house has spiral stairs leading to an exit to
the Lonely Street. We don't
celebrate the Sundays, but I think
'tis good
to celebrate them, because, on these days,
people think to give their best
to The Lord. The notes
of your sonata are as those vanishing steps,

that I hear, sometimes, in our corridor,
when the silence stops to guard the door
of your secret room. 'Tis Sunday again,
but it's raining with tears from
the eyes of the clouds. Nonetheless, the artists
don't want to miss
listening to you play the piano. The music
is like a daybreak,
or like an undiscovered

Submitted: Wednesday, April 02, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, January 06, 2015

Topic of this poem: art

Form: Dramatic Monologue

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