Believe it or not, I hate music
But when rain pours on my roof
And runs through the trough
I hear strings of a cello
Then to a child I become
When rain runs into the stream
And the river sends it back to the sea
Then to the ocean to silent sky
I wonder if life unlike rain
It comes back once again
If science can make me greater
I will then seek the path to past
To reclaim those that I never had
But I must speak to my own creator
Not to my father, not to my mother
For I am…..I am my MUSIC
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem