The Waiting Violin
I see it lying on his table,
His broken violin, Perfect to the eye,
Yet it carries a sad tale,
Its spirit is broken,
Its strings wrecked with pain,
When he played,
Played his life,
His life on it,
A rose, Lies on it,
Plucking its heart,
And wrecking it with pain,
Only he’s not there,
So it lies waiting,
Waiting for him,
To pick it up,
And play it again,
Only he’s not here,
He’s not here anymore,
So it lies there waiting,
Waiting for him,
To pick it up,
And play it again…
*****
She looked at the violin… Was it trying to tell her something? Surely its strings were not wrecked with pain…. He had been gone a long… long time… Maria picked up the Stradivauss, as if it were a sad little baby craving for its father’s attention and cradled it in her arms… Her long charcoal black hair strewed over it as she gently picked up its bow… And plucked its strings gently… Starting to play very softly… she began to build up the tune till tears streamed down her face, for the violin was so sad, it refused to play jovial tunes and every note was low… a low baritone… expressing how the violin felt at his absence…
Her son bounded up to her and pulling her long black skirt asked her innocently, “Mamma, will the violin be all right?” Her large black eyes which were turned to the azure sky dimmed, her mocha complexion took on a golden hue as the sun rays fell on her, her dark, rose red lips turned down, trembling, as if she were about to cry, her long hair swirled around her face as if it were trying to shield her vulnerability… She finally looked at her son… putting down the violin… bent down to kiss her son, her hair enveloping him completely and whispered softly, “Give it some more time… It’s still in pain…Over your father’s absence…” Her son looked into her tear-stricken face, wiped away her tears and said with a fierce conviction in his eyes, “He’ll be back… Won’t he…”
The sun set in the horizon… Giving the ebony floor and mahogany furniture a warm reddish glow… The amber sun turned into a mellow yellow…. Then into a lovely sanguine… Spreading its rays…. Its glorious farewell to the world… Her son held her face trying to comfort her… Her black eyes gazed at him solemnly… trying to comprehend his gestures… The setting sun’s rays garbed him in a golden cloak… The sun itself formed a lovely halo around his head turning him into a golden angel of comfort… His brown eyes glowed with warmth… The setting sun also bathed the violin in its rays… trying to still its pain… its quivering heart… Feeling the violin, warm in her hands, she looked up and wordlessly handed the violin and its bow to her son. He took it gently from her… raised it and lo! He played a beautiful tune… the warmth had finally seeped into the violin… winter had finally turned to spring inside the violin’s little heart… A nightingale piped up as night began to settle on the world… in this little garden… The queen of the night slowly started opening its blooms… turning the nightly air into a sweet zephyr… a strong spicy fragrance…. The nightingale sang again and gently flying from its perch flew to Maria’s outstretched hands…
