Bedoor Bluemoon

Everyday writing to expose the soul



The Piano


via Image Writing Prompt #43

“You never play anymore, you just sit there,” I told my dad one afternoon as the light fell on the black and white keys and his unwavering hands.  He seemed lost in thought as always and kept his eyes fixed on his fingers.  I recalled how the music notes would fill our home from early morning before we were ready to go to school.  It was the sound of the keys and the smell of the coffee that made our home what it was.

And now, the sound ceased to exist.

It was three months ago when my mother passed away so suddenly.  It was a calm night in March when I heard her being rushed down the stairs with my dad.  I came out of my room with my headphones on my shoulders not knowing what was going on.  She had on her light blue robe and was pale as a ghost.  She was holding onto her stomach and screaming from pain and dad was barely able to stand, let alone attend to her.  “Don’t worry hon, I just feel a bit sick but I’ll be back.”  She tried to comfort me sweetly.  I believed her, I always believed my mom.  I never thought she would ever lie to me or ever leave me.

But she did.

There was nothing they could do to stop it.  It was unexpected and so sudden that I would find myself forgetting she was gone, like waking up and expecting to smell the coffee.  My dad couldn’t arrange anything for her funeral so my aunt took the heavy responsibility off our chests.  It was dark, dim, and morbid like any other funeral regardless of the weather.

And to make matters worse, the sound of the piano stopped.  “You never play anymore, you just sit there,” I stated again.

She’s gone.  He whispered, with a tear rolling down his cheek.

قهوتي المُرّة

نحتسي القهوة ونحن نعلم بأن مرارة الأيام

ليست بلذة مرارة القهوة

فنعيش معها واقعنا المرير

نتذكر الآهات ودروس الحياة الصعبة

نتذكر مَن كانوا معنا يوماً

وابتعدوا بلا سبب

ونتذكر من كانوا معنا يوماً

وابتعدوا بعدألف سبب

وألف غصّة

وألف دمعة

ونحتسي القهوة المُرّة

نتذكر مرارة الفراق

ونغوص في احلامنا المتكسّرة

فنكاد نراها أمامنا خلال البُن الداكن

الا انها تتضح


فنأخذ رشفة أخرى نتعذب بالمرارة

قهوتنا: واقعنا المرير

وذكرياتنا المؤلمة

واحلامنا المتكسّرة

فربما (دلق) القهوة

يُبعد الشر فلا نتذكر

شر ذكرياتنا وافكارنا

وخيالنا الجامح

(وألف (لَو

خذيني يا قهوتي الى الماضي

واتركيني أسبح في جراحي


لأشرب بعد مُر قهوتي

كوباً من الماء

يصفّي ذهني

ويعود بي الى اليوم

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