The Pianist is a Murderer

The pianist is a murderer, each
Key caressed on its black
And white skins, existing on
A most uncertain life as
The maestro kills him at
Each loving stroke.

Different black shapes of
Circled head, emanate
From the keys and fingers,
Floating in the air to
Dance with one another.
Like the vapors from steaming
Lakes, they fly and soon whisper
Their last.

The pianist is a murderer.
Kills each black balloon as
Soon as they whispered or
Shouted their presence; but
Each individual creative
death and undercurrent of
creative violence, gives birth
To a musical piece.

The pianist murderers,
To become a master creator.

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Farewell Black Shoes and French Kisses

You have walked with me, on
Damp avenues, rusted pavements
And daily sunshine, as you
Whole-heartedly housed my tired
Journeying on your limited
Darkened twin rooms.


But I have seen lately that shining
Blackness of your skin and
Forehead, faded as those Levi’s
jeans I wear three times a week.
Your tongue tied on the silent
Opening of your wide mouth has
Grown quite tired from our
Constant French kisses in the morning.
Your embrace on my dependence is now
cold, arms loosened like the button
of my favourite old green polo
shirt, exploring that little
universe of its sole existence.

I still love you for Christ’s sake! Though
I can see that you are already growing
tired of the weight of my love. But
I have to let you go: let go even
Of our French kisses; goodbye to
Strolling on romantics boulevards
During boring afternoons. Because
You are now gone, stolen by the
Darkness from my embrace; while
I was fast asleep in confidence that
I Will have you forever.

Farewell to you black shoes,
I must move on now.

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