There was nothing left for us

***
There was nothing left for us
but to thank the stars
for hearing the keys
under these hands,
under the hands
without music,
under the hands
without any land to land,
under the hands
sending the whole world into a drift sand,
while the fingers
were hammering the unexisting notes,
the unpronounced letters,
were typing over the keyboard
a silent concerto,
a stone-still unmovement
of the heart,
that didn’t have the power
even to tremble,
the hands that pounded the keyboard
as the waves pound a beach,
painting a scene
of how it feels
not being capable to feel,
being only able to burn the candles
for nothing,
for the film’s sake,
to feel the rented house
with its rented sounds.
There was nothing left for us
except the postlude,
except the meno mosso,
a cadence that leaves
a question mark,
an echo –
a hope of a reply,
a giant wave rearing up
and then,
at its apogee,
falling in slow motion
to smash itself in pieces.