The Translator Poem by Ruth White

The Translator

Rating: 4.0


A man stands ready, all dressed up and alone.
He knows he must stay focused and always on tone.
He stands behind a curtain, with a strong smile of pride.
Yet the smile is fake; he would rather run and hide.
He hears many voices as they all walk to find their seat.
But he stands there motionless and soundless, not making a peep.
Soon the crowd falls silent and the spotlights, they turn on.
And then the curtain is pulled away until it's fully gone.
He can not see their faces, for the room is mostly dark.
However this has never bothered him; he turns and makes his mark.
He feels as a drop of sweat slowly rolls down his face.
He wipes it away and focuses more as he sits to takes his place.
His knees, oh how they quivered, but they've done this before.
He loves his job, however he can't do it anymore.
He takes a single breath, then rests his hands on the keys.
Then up and down the piano they fly like a breeze.
He played every note, as perfect as the last.
While the crowd just sat there, being hit with the blast.
As soon as it started, the song came to a close.
He stood from the piano and picked up a single rose.
Someone from the crowd had thrown it up on the stage.
Yet he didn't look at it with glee; he glared at it with rage.
He enjoyed playing the piano, but every gift has a price.
And every time he would play it felt more and more like lice.
Festering and growing until he can take the pressure no more.
This show, on the stage, was his last one for sure.
He took the rose, in his hands, and placed it down on the piano.
There would be no more performances; bass, tenor, alto, or soprano.
He couldn't take the peers of his works, not today, not ever.
It was a pit inside of him that he knew he had to sever.
He bowed for his last time, not even gazing at the crowd.
And just like always, they cheered very loud.
Then he turn, and walk. He stepped out of the light.
And already his mind began to cleared with delight.
However people would hate him and call him a traitor.
For leaving his job as the music translator.

Sunday, September 20, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: social skills
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kelly Kurt 20 September 2015

An enjoyable read, Ruth. Thanks

1 0 Reply
Kim Barney 20 September 2015

Very interesting poem. I enjoyed reading it very much. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

2 0 Reply
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