Music of the violin I was suddenly hearing
Breaking the silence of four in the morning
In the darkness I found your naked silhouette
straddling a chair from the dining room set
your raven hair all covered with moonlight glow;
like angels were listening outside our bay window
and I felt every movement of your hands and bow
transfixed I became, by your one woman show
music stopping the playing and then starting again
scratching a melody, you just caught in a whirlwind
then more beautiful you became and a woman so rare
I was breathless in wonder and did wordlessly declare...
Can we the people not feel that we are even tiny lights still burning?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I write poetry in the twenty first century with a pulse, without letters of academia after my name. ... not preaching frozen expressions thoughts of cadavers kept and worshiped by zealots of higher education and their minions writing about the scent of a rose while mis- remembering the last time they actually inhaled one in real life... as the great chefs in the world are celebrated for new creations and fresh ideas; good bad or indifferent, why not poetry?