The Violinist

All the other musicians were so imprudent! He was much wiser He was much stronger He was much more experienced... They coveted him Like the demons underground Praying Crying Begging To be the seraphs above Living under the wings of God He held his violin Better than the woman who played the flute The woman that placed her instrument Between her divine lips Music to the violinist was much more than a k i s s Such a meaningless kiss That its taste would last only for a second or two Such a meaningless kiss A meaningless tune That once it ended It was forever forgotten He held his violin Better than the young man who played the guitar The young man that placed his instrument on his lap The young man that carelessly held his instrument Music to the violinist was much more than a d r e a m On the lap And in the arms Of a lover seeking for Vengeance A dream so bitter It would turn into a nightmare The violinist embraced his violin He loved it as much as he loved the maiden He once had He held it In his arms Nothing dissevered him from his violin But the soft piece of cloth That he placed his chin on As he played his breath - taking music Tears gushed out of his beautiful brown eyes He caressed his violin With its bow The same way he stroked His lovely maiden's fair curls His guts swelled with pain He longed to see her face once again He suddenly stopped And cried out "If you would... d... die for me... You must live for me too!" After moments of silence He continued playing his dear violin With more passion With more pain And for a second there He saw her! He heard her! His lovely maiden! Whistling along with the tune Inertly placed in his arms Smiling back at him As her soft fair curls covered most of her forehead She giggled "I love you..." This poem goes to my dear grandfather... Mahmoud Kaabour... THE violinist... May God's mercy be upon you...