I cannot play any instrument
But I can hoot aloud against the unjust!
I just pressed a reed and in a low pitch
I heard this; ' Frederic Francois Chopin,
Do you remember a Polish pianist?
I suffered from poor health
And I died in Paris in 1849
At the age of 39.'
I want to say him that I have been to Gdynia
And I saw apple cheek beautiful girls in the dance of Mazurkas.
But I was dumbfound and I felt like a dummy run in the life theater
Or behind the stage as an unkempt underprivileged!
To my friend robyn selters with gratitude!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fascinating and delightfully written, beginning with the speaker seeming to be a person, but shortly changing entirely to the instrument..the ramshackle unappreciated piano which had seen better scenes and been despised even then....I quite enjoyed how you expressed it! Excellent!