Sprouting from his very own fingertips
melodies, duets, trios just as so inspirational
just a little tinsy winsy bit from what is gathered
has grown to a wise old redwood
but still embarks the youth on the outer
as the world gets older
his love for music hasn't withered a bit
the creations, the spirit, the fascination
every creator sounds like a madman locked in a cube
but they're truly just amazing
and making the new
that's just the starting of beauty
haven't yet seen him write a symphony
but I believe he can if he tried
cuz that's my brother
with magic at his fingertips
the wondrous singing voice
I could just listen to it everyday, every dream
cuz he speaks words in this piano
now slowly bounding clarinet, Chinese flute or maybe even more
to his musical taste
every piece
pictured in mind
every motion
remembered to the very last
every memory
blown up til with hot gas
every melody
sounding every tinge of emotions
roll down this window
let me taste it, savor it again
cuz I yearn for more
and the dust on the keys are there once more
play this piano
play this piece
and let it fly brother
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem