I was sitting on grass in an open-air
Theatre-in-the-round, watching theatricals
As performed by various artists,
Painting vivid pictures with rainbow colours,
Using their tongues, and not their hands,
Though I didn’t pay for a ticket for the show
I paid a huge amount of attention
To see the meaning of their paintings with my ears,
My eyes closed to feel their texture with the
Hands of my heart.
I felt a sweet harmonising violin’s waves
Floating sensuously into my ears,
Meandering their way to the small mother in
My chest whose arms were open like a field
To welcome them with warm hands,
Thus caressing the affections of my soul.
I opened my eyes,
She, who was holding a small violin
Under her chin, exploded into my eyes like
A Roman candle,
Her curves had the delicacy of a Rossetti
Like the river of moving colours,
Her skin was the melted honey,
With a face that was like a photographer’s wallpaper,
Wearing a dress that was as unpretentious as her smile,
Yet I was drawn to the poetic, sensuous parts of
The piece she played.
What she doesn’t know is that
I, firstly, fell in love with her hands,
As she was caressing the skin of the brown-skinned
Violin, gently, with a bow in her tender hand,
I felt chills racing through my body and
I knew it was begging for her fingertips.
She doesn’t know that she healed me from the
Pain I didn’t know I felt,
I wanted to tell her,
Yet, when I asked about her, no one knew her,
They only knew that she was Hispanic
And I couldn’t speak Spanish.