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Poems - Piano Tuner

Piano Tuner

by stephminoglou

In this train we seem to travel, what can I unravel?
If you look out the window, do you see the lonely widow.
Do you wonder, why she is in no train.
Would you stop yours, to relieve her pain?

In the crowded room you sit,
do you see the only shadow
Him with no cigarette lit, would you bother
on some kind of simple offer?

When the civil craftsman, built the grand communion
Did he think his children would leave-out their common union?
and had you seen this grand communion
Gathering of rivers, flowing in all directions
web like bridges linking them all.
Could he have predicted this fall?

This man decided to play the piano
he took off the dust, with his mental brush,
Sat on the chair, like a clumsy bear
And played some noisy notes.
But with unfed fingers, an un tuned piano, and such a mental state
Could you hear a tune of faith?

To the sunrise party I went the other day, I saw this joker
He threw his dice against the wall, they got stuck on their side
Five years later, I went there again. The dice still in the mold.
I went to their corner. Decided to stand on hold.

On my way to work, I saw the friendly woman in her box.
She seemed bored.
I asked her why she wouldn’t leave.
“from which side?”

To my room I went. The piano lid I released.
I tried to play some notes. It always had been
badly tuned. Most say no one can tune it.
Skilled professionals all over came to try.
Still they would end up in a familiar sigh.

To my bed I decided to lay. I couldn’t close my eye.
That damn train caused a rattle in my brain.
Fled in such a hurry.
Never seemed to rest with all the rest.

They gathered in the gritty streets of night
Taking the day off, seeking some form of release
This one man wanted a smoke, some other to
hop on her train, and a third to play his grand finale.

To the woman in the box I decided to flee,
And to my surprise she had done the same.
I looked down and saw ants.
Scurrying in all directions.
None of them could seem to leave.
my curious confusion opened holes
Still none could see how to set free.

Stuck in this party how could I escape,
I need a cigarette but have no lighter,
My dice are stuck, darn.
And why can’t he play the piano?
They say the famous piano tuner used to live here.
He should give her a call.

In my deep meditation, I get this call from my son
He asks me if I could tune his piano, like I am some great piano tuner
That is no piano.
It’s made from the tree of life.
It takes time to fill with enegy.
They must water it, care for it.

The train rushed by my room.
But to all dismay, it came to a halt in my kitchen.
I hate breakfast. But Clouds of colourful smoke, hissing from the steel-chimney filled the room with northern lights

I stepped down this metallic chamber,
Saw the lonely man gulp away at yet another day,
Trying to eat his well earned bread.
I stopped by to provide him some spread.

Do you remember when the figure of the
Morning express, offered you a cigarette and a ride
All the way to the polar edge?
Maybe he didn’t mend your piano but . . .

That was the day that my son’s piano got some water,
Maybe not some tuning, but if you listened carefully
you could hear whispering crackles steam from its charcoaled wood.