A fleeting night joke


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The light is sleeping besides me in a carbonized cotton thread inside the bulb.

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, the pillow under my head sights foreseeing a sleepless night.

Suddenly the music hugs me with no sound in the room: trumpet blust, the magic flute, a flock of violins grazes the melody on the score.

A thousand tolls: the bell tower in the village whispers the hour and the loneliness of whom are listening to it.

The solo leaves the stock; the most coquette string runs plucking the harmonic scale and fades away into a promised "B".

My hand is closed in a fist, the long lashes which belong to me vibrate while the thirty six blacks fall: the piano is protagonist now and in the arpeggio the shaded dawn bursts.

I have lived the time of a fleeting night joke. I close my eyes slowly as if I were at a first night and at last I begin to dream.

Write: Stefano Pastori
Blulight gallery - December 2017

Music: Shostakovich
Concerto No.1 for piano,
trumpet and strings in C minor,
Op.35 - I. Allegro vivace

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