Fingers wove life on the ivory and ebony keys
Music that floated mesmerized the world
as everyone stopped to listen
As his fingers danced with the keys,
the Pianist became one with the Muse
A good life he led,
living with the ones he loved
doing what he was born to do
Sharing it with the world
being Celebrated for it
the voices of concern didn't bother him
they didn't seem real
Life was good and he was untouched
Like a wall that suddenly forgot its duty
His protection sphere crumbled.
But it wasn't so terrible, was it?
True no longer celebrated
He was still playing the piano
It would be okay.
Not even the sign
that said "No Jews allowed"
had him dismayed.
Temporary - that's what it was
The fingers that once wove magic now sold books
to people who could not afford to pay
Forced out of his home -
leaving Everything behind
Would he play again?
An old man in a wheelchair
thrown out of the window
because he could not stand and run
like his family did
just before they were shot down.
The jeeps ran over their bodies
and brought out a final cry
from a man who's life had not yet ebbed out
No dignity even in death.
Things would never be the same again
Questions raised with no answers in sight
Philosophical, practical - nothing shed light
when the next hand of evil struck
he was separated from the ones he loved
whipped and starved at every opportunity
the fingers that played with ivory keys
transported bricks for his enemies
The final journey of his hell on earth,
thought the pianist bitterly
Perhaps the death camp was their only ticket out
The journey would be arduous
children, women and men
packed like tuna in a can
treated much worse.
But death was not meant to be
an unexpected hand reaches out in the nick of time.
But where can he flee?
He's lost everyone he loved
rock bottom in the pit of anguish…
but refuge he finds
for the moment Safe
The music resurfaces -
if only in his head.
Night after night
Frightened
Hungry for a mere morsel
body raking with Fever
abandoned by one he trusted
afraid to move,
scared to breathe,
frightened that someone might begin to see
and he'll be turned out
and shot at - with no second thought
Saved for a second time from the hands of death
nursed back to health
somehow the music plays on
A sudden attack!
the bombers are bombed!
Dare he hope?
Is this salvation?
But the cloud passes with no sign of rain.
The rebels fall to their death.
Those that tried to run fall on the street
with a hole in their head,
dragged by a limb,
piled up and burnt.
Run!
his refuge no longer safe
into the city that once teemed with life
now lying ravaged
like a nightmare that came true
the hunger gnaws as he searches for a food
and a hiding place
A tin - Unopened!
Grabbing it, he flees from place to place
till in an attic he thinks he's safe.
Gunfire, bombs, he sits down and weeps
Wondering why this isn't all a bad dream
Wondering why he's still alive to witness the scene
He noises cease
Running out of tears,
he begins to breathe.
On to the business of trying to survive,
Emotions take a backseat.
He finds a poker to open the tin.
(Look at him
a wasted image
almost no being left in that human being)
There's no strength in his weary arms
Yet the constant effort pays,
A small opening
(Hope inside?)
But the tin slips,
the liquid seeps,
rolling,
spilling on the ground.
Helpless eyes watch,
Pent-up emotions resurface
but that doesn't begin to compare
to the fear that grips him
when he sees that the telltale tin
at the feet of a German.
The Pianist prepares to meet
what he once thought could cheat.
Yet a sudden light shone
Music built a bridge when all else was gone
The Jew and the German stood behind
as two lovers of art crossed the line
the Pianist played the piano
like he had never done before.
Risking his life,
the man across enemy line
provided food and a warm coat.
Later he died - but not as 'unknown'
The Pole never forgot
The cordon of evil was broken
But lives were scarred forever
Would they ever forget?
Would they ever forgive?
Would they ever laugh
or even smile again?
Yet the music re-emerged
More meaningful than ever
Echoing with it, the celebration that it was
Thankfulness for each new day
Echoing with it sadness, yet kindness
And a human spirit that had defied even the darkest days |
Submission Name: The Pianist
