There were two piano pieces of Rachmaninoff's: Love's Joy and Love's Sorrow. Now she, the musician who lets the instrument cry for her, always chooses to play the latter piece. And he, the musician who seeks to pursue happiness with his instrument, asks her, "Why do you stick to sorrow?"
.
.
.
"So I can get used to it."

SELL me a violin, mister, of old mysterious wood.
Sell me a fiddle that has kissed dark nights on the forehead where men kiss sisters they love.
Sell me dried wood that has ached with passion clutching the knees and arms of a storm.
Sell me horsehair and rosin that has ****** at the ******* of the morning sun for milk.
Sell me something crushed in the heartsblood of pain readier than ever for one more song.

whatever we speak, it's hardly going to
be spoken of.

which means two                   kettles...
mind you: target practise
                    or as i mind
the 2.4
                of said: superman
in Iowa...
do i care to mind?
well, **** me!
   they verse in acronym
i.n.d.i.a. & c.h.i.n.a.
akin to a billion...
i'm tongue tied and heaving,
       *das bōt...
this doesn't help the aesthetic...
with prolonging dies
the excess o...
                  kaiser schweizer min took!
      whatever that means,
they say funny accents in ****
to **** a thought of a zeppelin...
yhwh: or the hollowing-out,
awaiting the god to lift us out...
           Pythagorean umlaut
into a macron joinery...
            depending on your aesthetic...
Kreisler schisser...
                          twins anti avid,
interchange s and z...
                                  Charlotte
and sharpening, shearing and cheering,
and so many excuses...
         the chard and the sh and the charcoal
and the shattering of, of the chatter:
                  cheap and sharp
or the acute variations of śarp & ćeap...
or what the first H represents:
an upper punctuation marking,
above the letter,
              Y or gamma γ vs. Υ (upsilon)
            in latter phrasing comma...
   or what's pinpointed with Y
and what's later replicated in trigonometric W
of sine and cosine, as is Y the tan divergence...
excesses bound to later and latter...
how to differentiate? the lay'ter
from the latté of not mopping up the surd
h and the vocalised h that's asphyxiating
within catching breath asthmatic?
                      people forgot punctuation
in the same way they forgot diacritical markings
but at least they got a pretty picture
and dyslexia, and iconoclasm, and
modern illiteracy;
as said modern conspiracy theory:
far **** away from 1990s cartoon network...
        everything you just said: doesn't
prop a need for me to buy things;
which is why, i guess, you need
a drugs trade that's the alternative
of consumerism.

I found you in April, a lone cherry blossom
Floating on the wind as the spring smiles.
Your hands were oddly calloused,
Your fingers scarred.
You told me that you played
The violin, and I told you,
I played none.

You played Chopin on the stage
And the music was yellow, red and light.
I saw the words in your music,
And your words became mine.
I saw colors within music,
The image of spring after
The last of summer's nights.

Your favorite piece was Love's Sorrow,
A piece you played like a lullaby.
Although I couldn't understand
Mozart, Kreisler and Liebeslied,
I found meaning in every
Note that your violin cried.

Your pieces were embedded
With the deepest loneliness,
Hidden within the pitches, tone and sound.
You eyes sparkled like the light
Upon the bluest water
Every time your bow touched
The strings of your old and loved violin.
And I'd remember how you looked
So utterly beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
During that one spring night.

Shafts of light streamed through the half opened blinds
The moon in its brimful bloom,
Its silver light washed up the room
Reflecting the light into my eyes.
The faint sound of the gramophone playing Fritz Kreisler’s Liebesleid (Love's Sorrow).
The walls threw back the echoes of the melody!
I didn’t know why tears were gushing along with it.
In a room full of white.
With a music so rich.
A solitary night.
A solitary heart.
Why always play Love’s Sorrow when you also have Love’s Joy?
Maybe deep down
My heart knew the cavernous melancholy henceforth.

A.Hana

I saw the world through eyes
Which was caged by metal bars.
My only companion was the coal black grand piano standing in the middle of the room.
Music sheets scattered everywhere!
I have by hearted every note in them
Every sonata, Every waltz, every Nocturne.
Beethoven’s moonlight sonata gave beauty to the moonless nights.
Debussy’s clair de lune became my sun on sorrowful cloudy days.
Chopin’s minute waltz reminded me of every passing minute of my grief.
Fritz kreisler’s loves joy was the the burning flame that lit the darkness.
My heart longs for the day,
To be saved by Beethoven’s melody of love.
The melody which will melt down the metal bars blocking my sight.
The bars from my caged eye!!

A.Hana