April in Paris…

Till April in Paris, Chestnuts in blossom…

In Paris will I be, in April in Spring. How funny life is, sometimes. The charm of coincidences, these little things that fall into place under the light of being, of knowing.

Now my beloved friend from the river of Isar explores the land where I rose, the upside down world from ten thousand miles away. And here I am, by the Swiss Alps.

Tomorrow my dear Piotr will visit me from Paris. As another friend from the mountains land in Paris in preparation for the grand finale. And I, will soon be in Paris for our beloved Fryderyk…

My dear friend, a black bird, has left not so long ago. She returned to the small town in the West where I shall visit in the Summer.

And just as Spring ends, my old friends from across the Earth shall pass by my new home, and we shall have tea.

I have yet to rehearse with my old friend in the palace from the cold North, the friend whom I have encountered many years ago in a foreign land from the far East.

And to those who visited my home some years ago. We shall meet here, at the centre of the arts…

Everyone gathers, everyone parts. Those who follow, and those who stay. Those who return, and those who wait.

We may cross paths, or we may walk along the silver strings.

How I battle with myself sometimes, how I never could understand this being with whom I forever am acquainted, yet strange to. How this irritating yet, never-ending contradiction revels in me.

The insurmountable pathos of love is also, the pathos of being.

Published in: on 18/02/2016 at 8:24 AM  Leave a Comment  

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