i am listening to a piano music
it is cheap, there are no hands playing the
piano keys
there is no piano even, and there is no pianist
no chair where the pianist is supposed to sit
and there are no hands to make the much needed applause
no one judges here
whether the notes are perfectly drawn
or the musical score appreciable or light
that is not the concern, there are no concerns
whatsoever even
it is just the listening pleasure
without people listening without a hall
no exits and no entrances
nothing to enthrall you, but this short pleasure
of just being you alone and receptive
paying attention to loneliness that is shared by
many if not all
of these creatures who claim that by being alive
they must listen...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem