To Play the Violin Together

Tempted like Margaritta to sell her soul for her lovely master,
I’m beguiled by the city of lights, the haven of demons…
Why is it called Los Angeles, the city of angels?
Have you seen any? Just a single one in its streets?

Maybe it’s just me not lucky, walking along
Watching passengers-by stroll, fuss, mess, kiss, hiss at one another,
Cars honking, kids crying…
Wait… A violin is playing somewhere!
I rush, run to its sound,
Push through the crowd, don’t care about the traffic lights
And policemen… That sound so angelic, so heart-healing,
So melodic, so brilliant…
Where is it coming from?
Like Edgar Poe’s man in the mob,
Sporadically chaotically I’m searching,
Heading along
Continuously, without success
But not losing hope.
As if it would make me find angels in the city
But I believe I will.

And then we can play the violin together.