Child Prodigy - Poem by Eli Spivakovsky
Child prodigy, performed for royalty
at the beginning of the century
Considered the wonderkind
considered a gift-given
the critics darling
He gave his stradivarious away
Gave it to the gypsies.
the people with no home
they made you repeat
the word 'receipt'.
as they gave you the e-string
pulled it from the violin
and cursed and laughed
and played it with horse's hair
and played it with singing
and all the things
it didn't bring for you.
Now come with me to the forests of Kiev
I'll show you where I buried a book about freedom.
We can wait til it blossoms.
Or the snow makes it forgotten
but your name will live on, no fear
without too much attention
but still an ascension
like the gypsies hired for the hay
they do their best then on their way
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You