HER MIDNIGHT BLACK PIANOFORTE

Nusaiba Yasin

“Wander with me through a forest of pristine harmonies.”

Stepping into the woodland panorama,
A sage-green willow entwines itself into our narrative.
Each footfall ricochets striking against smoke burnt cobblestones,
Molten flickers of marigold sunshine peeps between auburn boughs;
Gossamer fractals of a timeless waterfall bleeds;
Bleeds in through the crevices of forlorn reminiscence.
And amidst all that splendid grandeur;
A midnight black pianoforte dares to stand its ground challenging the laws of ephemeral ruin.

Wistful ivory engravings coil around the pedals of the piano,
Sprawled out sheets of music by the brook embrace her haunting essence;
Every odd nudge at the chipped in keys play a rueful melody,
Each melody summons the ghost of her presence;
The skeletal framework of the pianoforte encrusts despondent breaths;
Breaths that mark the demise of my beloved mother.

“Father moves into the frame with red-hot lanterns and a pitchfork,
He escorts the bad men;
The bad men who stumble through the overgrown shadows of Blackthorn bushes;
They’re here to pluck out the strings from the piano,
And with that – the soul of my departed mother.”

a burning piano

I shield the pianoforte with a screeching defiance,
No one, none at all would massacre the last remnants of my mother.
But, alas!!
I stand in solitude,
A lonesome effigy frozen in front of a pewter tinted wrecking ball.
With each thundering crash, it felt as if I was losing my mother all over again.
I couldn’t save her that night,
“OH, NO!”
Not from those bloodied bad men with crimson red malevolence,
Nor from my father’s unfathomable vendetta towards a gentle breeze of piano tunes.

Seven and a quarter scintillating years later:
I tower over the desecrated shrine of my precious mother,
The final burial ground of her best-loved confidante; her midnight black pianoforte.

Under the sage-green willow tree;
My memories wander through a forest of pristine harmonies.
And at its core a vivacious young girl pirouettes about in a periwinkle gown,
With her mother’s lustrous fingers drifting smoothly across the pearly-white keys
Of her midnight black pianoforte.

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