III) Revisiting Pianoforte Why did I buy you from the enchanting shop? Which has preludes, etude, and waltzes fair? Indulge myself with these useless teardrops? Her voice is divinely sounded in the fare, I could have swear I heard her sing, Now seated this majestic lady in black, In my parlor, in my studies, in my garden, I looked into her eyes, and gazed back, Nothing, but dead, dead silent, "Why will you not sing for me?" I asked, I received no reply, but a snobbish sneer, I reach out my finger to touch her white skin, She screamed as if she sees my deadly sin, "Leave me" she said, "or I shall never sing again," I start reading poetry to her, whispering love all sorts, But she looked at me with strange eyes and faces distort, I reached out to her, but she refused again yet again, Why do you reject my hand? These hands danced many a times on keyboard, papers typewriters? Created pages and pages of idle literary world, of them I am the creator� "Ah, Sir," she replied calmly "Idle poetry are created by idle fingers�" She would have loved me better had these fingers be better done? My dear pianoforte, it is not your fault that you love not poetic hands, Nor is the fault mine for not possessing a more dexterous pair, I will bring you back to be sold at the magical shop-stand, Until you can sing when you meet better fingers, better hands, I can but sigh and curse He who created me, Why are my hand poetics, never musical be? I shed tears for your silence, I shed tears for your leaving, As I turns my head whispering another hopeless "love you" I heard a Sonatina as if saying, "thank you�"
Luke Hsieh