Transcending the Finite

The fingers of history dance upon a long keyboard
Most notes heard just the once
as ballet tips leave prints behind in technicolour
They cake the black and white like Holi
Some notes come round again
though hit at different force
The Pianist brings them to life
at fleeting overlays
Whimsical flow dribbles some out like water
Others are shot with fire at a tempo
But best of all are  those struck in chord
their echo resounding long after their deaths
Holding the memory of love
thick within the ether
like the paused inhale of saffron scent