it is a luxury for me here
listening to chopin
i got no cuts or burns
no wounds
nothing bizarre or catastrophic
or calamitous
this is a life
relaxed on a saturday
i do not have to go
anywhere
to look for chopin or
his impostors to soothe
me, i claim no grief anyhow
or a malady
got no sickness to cure
or a problem to solve
at this point in time
papa used to say
we shall do nothing but
listen
he was talking about
those wild birds singing
in the forest, where
at the middle of it
he lived the life of
a tarzan
got his vines and knife
a recently butchered
boar, while he struts
giving us all the awe
for he wants us to do
nothing ona saturday
far, far, far away from
home, far, far away from
mama, who in her own
brave life, says, i could
care less, what happens
to him, whether he lives
in the heavens or in
hell. yes, yes, hell.
so here i am
listening for once
upon a luxury of a chopin
winging birds, hushing leaves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Listening to chopin is luxurious definitely and this is amazing! ..10