The Sound of the Past

 Through my eyes

I hear

the sound of the past.

It is a deep

longing

for something long lost,

or maybe

never found… 

 

We are vibration.

Resonance.

Our soul lies in

our heart.

If this were not so,

I wouldn’t feel

this bittersweet feeling

whenever I see Vienna,

breathtakingly beautiful

with her majestic buildings,

unchanged from a day when,

hurriedly,

Mozart would have passed them by,

on his way to a concert at the

Mehlgrube.   

 

If this were not so,

I wouldn’t feel

this haunting tenderness 

each time I hear

His music.  

 

If this were not so, 

I wouldn’t feel

emotion

when touching the

1856 book  

that I found waiting for me, 

patiently,  

on a dusty bookshelf of an

antique bookshop.  

I found it

because I heard it

calling me.  

 

  

 

Our soul lies in

the heart. 

It is there where I hear

the past.  

It whispers

in a language which

fascinates me, although

I don’t understand a word.  

It calls to me, 

and its voice is

so strange, 

yet so familiar.

It resonates within my soul,  

it is joy and sadness 

entwined,

it’s mesmerizing,  

overwhelming, 

I chase her away from me,

only to let her come back 

again.  

  

Heinrich Heine was still alive  

when this book was born. 

Could he have touched it?

Maybe he didn’t,

but

so many others did

in 156 years, 

and they rejoiced 

in letting themselves

immersed

in its miraculous world.  

  

I yearn for that time when

a book was a work 

of art,

when Music filled the soul  

and lifted the spirit,

when people needed  

beauty

in everything that surrounded them. 

 

Through my eyes

I hear

the sound of the past…  

 

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