I relive a thousand pains
in every rib of your accordion.
Your melodies can summon the past;
my vicious, old, and hungry demon.
Those pliable fingers expose me to shadows.
I win and forfeit in the trenches of keys.
A melody of life; your highs and my lows.
Never stop playing, you make the time freeze.
A whirl of a dervish, that’s all this life is.
Born into anguish and endless spins,
with a flicker of hope that God’s tattoo
is somehow inked into this poor soul, too.
I beg of you, don’t ever stop playing
this dervish will keep whirling and swaying.
Only your keys still resemble a choice,
so it matters not if I will cry or rejoice.