To a Pianist

Your graceful fingertips played upon hearts and upon the piano —
their tips are red, as though on every fingertip a pearl!
You made the piano's tongue speak out with grace and suppleness;
in its merry wandering it is like a bird warbling its eloquence,
and in your singing throat a nightingale chants without repose,
telling its tale as the boon companion tells it — no stammer, no strange tongue.
So I heard the hymn of longing, of yearning, and of pearls,
and cried out sigh upon sigh, like a drunkard with his wine!

By Riyad Maalouf