Sitting on the window; looking out onto the terrace,
I was gazing into the twilight, feeling the wind seep into my heart,
Right then he had started to play.

A lonely figure in the moonlight, he was a solitary monk,
Strumming away on his guitar,
Luring out heaven’s saddest notes on the way.

And I began to lose myself too,
In the depths of his deep baritone voice of immeasurable sorrow,
As I vainly fought to blink the tears away.


His music had taken me home in another time,
Into her loving arms softer than soft,
Those that nursed me once and set me right.

I took the violin in my trembling hand,
Accompanying the lonely singer, I lapsed into the past,
The past that I didn’t want to have fight.

The fire that had taken her body, raged within me now,
Every note stabbed our souls as we keened; the world awoke to us,
Mine and his, our grief and music intertwined.

He finally looked up, right onto my face searching a balm for his fractured soul,
And all he saw was his own pain reflected in mine,
We kept on playing; Into that dark, cold night.


**For our first love,
The first face we ever saw with open eyes,
For a mother, A gasp of fresh air,
For the love, the love of our life.