Pluck the piano and the piper should pipe up,
Get lost on the shekere rhythm
And forget the chores of life.
Dream on the street, swim on palm wine,
Get the cheers from the people
And heal all the ones with terminal illnesses
On the melody and magic of singing.
Command the saxophone to burst while you make the setar
To fall in love with the lyre.
Play the keyboard and it will
Seem as if you play chess.
Rise up to the skies, above the clouds,
And the angels above join to make the chorus.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem