Schumann No.2
Undress to be self
Shrug off all the years
Days or weeks of your age.
The whitish on your head, grey hair.
Live like past
Sit tightly on a bench
Wooden, the shared table
Squeezed, full of boys, is class.
Door Opens
“Get on feet” you hear
You stand, turn your head
Walks a man to front; has a bag.
Strange
He to the students
He takes out of his bag.
Now you know; ‘a clarinet’.
You are in fifth grade
In that age nothing but children
Music is the word of devil, to parents
Tall teacher starts with: “Let us sing together.”
On the board is poem
That’s Saddi’s; for orphans.
“I too lost my father in childhood
I feel them. Have same pain, empathize.”
Some boy laughs
Teacher bursts to smash
The head of the poor boy he grabs.
He howls like a worlf; bang-bang-bang.
Music dies in you
No more is the nicest
You see no harmony in nature
Wound is healed by the time; no sickness.
Thank you musicians and great instruments.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem