piano and her witch

--

At first it was animato;

we danced on barefoot, marching the surge
of tunes that perforated the air with glory.

We danced (or was it only me?), we laughed,
we twirled around and jumped and yelled and
(oh what the fuck do you care? We rule the world!)
oh my god, wasn’t it funnnn as hell.

But then the witch decreased the speed
(oh damn her and her big, crooked nose)
and it becomes smorzando;

We don’t dance or twirl around or jump.

Everything’s like in a slow motion;
I just stare at you from the corner of the studio
while you stare out the window and (damn),
you’re growing out two wings so fassst.

And there, the witch is still playing (ever more slowllllyy);
the room is suffused with thick scent of lost souls.

In case you don’t know, it’s estinto now.

And here I am,
watching as you fly away, drifting off with the clouds,
to the blue shores of sky, where I never (nevernevernever) belong.

And as the last tune blends with me
(lifeless, soulless, weeping and wishing),
I just wish I could kick the witch (very hard)
and play the piano myself.

(So that, perhaps, we could get animato again)

But oh, what a cruel witch she is,
and a hopeless girl (dreamer) I am.

--&

a/n: animato: animated, lively; smorzando: dying away in tone and speed; estinto: as soft as possible, lifeless.

last year has been splendid.