Eight musical notions by string quartet: a long walk to get to the comfort of home, a dark blue muddy sea, about the unstoppable growing entropy, an innocent dog with bad luck, a box of toys at Christmas, the divine machine at the maker’s hand, a sudden awakening, a restless machine that never arrived on time.
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| The weary traveler treads the frozen ground, Longing to reach his warm abode profound. His aching feet drag with each heavy stride, As his heart beats with a deep desire to reside. | Through the bitter winds and the biting cold, He treks the path, feeling so alone and old. But in the distance, amidst the trees, A beacon of light he sees. |
| The Cantabrian Sea, a tempestuous might As raging waves clash with an eerie might Yet, tranquil whispers, an evening serene With golden skies and cliffs aglow, it’s seen | A tumultuous beauty, so wild and free The sea commands respect with its fierce spree But as the sun sets, it turns to pure gold An oasis of peace that never grows old |
| The old wooden hourglass, Its sand flowing ceaselessly, Aged grains trickling down, Counting moments endlessly. | With every turn of the glass, It marks the passage of time, A reminder of life’s brevity, And the moments we leave behind. |
| The poor dog, driven insane Chained to the barn, in wind and rain His barks, a cry for mercy and love But met with silence, no care thereof | Long days and nights, his only friend The rusted chain, his life’s bitter end A tale of sorrow and cruel fate Of a faithful dog, left to his desperate state |
| An old wooden toy box, With treasures from my youth, A lifetime of memories That bring back joy and truth. | Oh, sweet wooden toy box, Your memories still remain, And I’ll treasure them forever As if they were brand new again. |
| The god creator weaves on his magical loom, Crafting the fabric of the universe’s womb. Strands of energy and matter entwine, Forming a cosmic tapestry, so divine. | The loom slows, and the god’s work is done, A new universe created, from a single thread spun. The god creator surveys his creation with pride, A universe woven, by his hands, as his guide. |
| A newborn creature emerges from the void Its eyes now open, its senses employed It feels its body, a vessel for life Its mind awakens, with thoughts rife | Awareness dawns, a spark of light In the depths of its being, a fire ignites A soul is born, pure and bright As it takes its first steps into the night |
| Metallic gears turning fast, Clocks ticking, time won’t last, Whirring fans, humming sound, Machine’s heartbeat never slows down. | Silent worker, tireless might, Gears and bolts, a metal sight, Rushing through a task undone, Swiftly, efficiently, it’s begun. |
Eight musical ideas for string quartet