Chopin-Prelude Poem by Ryszarda Pelc

I can picture you, dear Frederic.
You are there in an immense, half dark room
With a stained- glass window
covered with the curtains of rain.

I see your face.
It seems to me whiter then a paper on the piano.
You are tense, so tens…
Maybe it is caused by a morning quarrel with George Sand,
who is your blessing and damnation?
(Oh, she is your blessing and damnation!)

Maybe your sadness is caused
by the dark clouds rolling over the sky,
hanging over the exuberant, tropical gardens of Majorca
and the endless, monotonous trickle of rain,
the metallic sound of drops striking wide leaves of palms?

You listen to the sound of rain,
Your lonely soul is singing the prelude.

I can picture you dear Frederic
Even though I am in place afar from that Spanish island.
I can picture you
while I am listening to your immortal music,
while I am listening to the sound of rain.
While I am listening to prelude:
profound sound of lonely souls.