Aubade Poem by Marieta Maglas

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 time
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
hieroglyph.

Poem by Marieta Maglas

Variant


That sonata comes from your desire to
explore the exquisite crush of
certain musical ideas. I am staring at 'The Sky, '
a masterpiece painted with scissors by
Henri Matisse, while I listen to you.
Those soaring white birds have
the appearance of moving hieroglyphics.
It seems so different this Sunday dawn
in our ancient sunlight of concealment!
A few golden rays weave a web to create
new complex and eye-catching life spirals.
Dreams rising and angels falling is
the theme of your piano piece.
This unusual rocking time is
gradually whitening your hair.
Two Mizutani shears appear to
have been forgotten on a chair similar to
those found in cut and curl shops.
Never for haircuts and curls,
our salon is intended to be
a gathering place for numerous artists.
The house has spiral stairs
that go down to Lonely Street.
Sundays are not consequential in our household,
but I think they should be since
they serve as a reminder to folks
to spend a lot of time in prayer and
contemplation with the Lord.
One door, that one guarding your safe room,
moves, shattering the silence. Now and then,
I hear your sonata's notes vanishing in the air
like all the footsteps in our hallway.
It's a new Sunday, but old tears fall from
the clouds' eyes. Still, the critics
don't want to miss hearing you perform on the piano.
A sense of dawn and some
ancient hieroglyphs shine in the music's lyrics.
To wake up next to you makes me happy.

Poem by Marieta Maglas