Tender Knowledge

Just a note, one note,
And then the music stops.
The room is filled with silence;
No echo is heard,
Only a few footsteps now and then.
And it feels comforting:
The serenity of the casual air,
The tenderness of the plain walls,
The winks of the old cracks on the usual road.
Without ever blinking, the eyes stare;
Images carefully grooved,
Smoothly dusted,
And gently kissed.
They don’t seek to be comprehended,
Each falls upon its shelter,
Each knowing what it needs to know,
Each gladly appreciated.
A soul is smiling, happily:
It is warm in there.
A note is suddenly heard,
The same note banged again.
It’s loud, so loud!
The soul holds its tiny hands to its tiny ears,
It looks around for an explanation,
With eyes lost and frightened.
The note is banged again,
Its echo roars,
Takes an image and pushes its way within.
The soul looks around,
Its eyes wet and mournful,
And amid the blur of a soaked vision,
It sees the blockage of the cracks,
The ferocity of smirking walls,
And the filthiness of a too clean air.
The same note is banged again.