Strings and Soul

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“Her face was tilted to one side and she followed the notes with soulful and probing eyes.” Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis
I waited one hundred years
And fifty more, for that girl.
In the basement, where the damp seeped into
My strings, and my soul.
I felt lost, broken, unusable.
Little talks were had, over what to do.
Could I sing again?
It was told that her great grandfather was the one who had played me first.
But what do those words mean
To a violin?
I was taken out of the case, and prodded and tweaked and fiddled with
The case was deemed unworthy
Good riddance, he stank (of mold and rust).
I was taken away from that prison
A long flight in a handbag, they would fix me
A new life, she would give me.
I now play new songs, happy songs to make her laugh
Sad songs, when she needs to have a heavy heart.
I watch her face as she follows the notes with soulful and probing eyes.





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