Keys of black and white open me
to realms of multicolored melody.
Without a match, a pianist lights a fire,
a sonic blaze which needs no amplifier.
Sheet musical notes, eggs of black and white,
hatch when played, from fingers taking flight.
That melody in your mind is solely mental,
but you can play and make it instrumental.
Chopin had it right– at times the singers
are not our voices but our supple fingers.*
Beginner at the piano – excited and humble –
like children learning to walk, fingers stumble.
Wordlessly, whole worlds can be relayed
as music landscapes from a piano played.
A pianist presses, a guitarist plucks and strums;
through countless ways a beautiful music comes.
You have to turn some keys to unlock doors,
but other keys are touched and music pours.
Infinities incarnate, sensationally expressed
in touch as when a piano’s keys are pressed.
Mario A. Pita
* See Manuscript in Dreams: A Study of Chopin by Juana Rosa Pita