In a corner of the swanky airport
He sat cross-legged in comfort
He seemed of Caucasian descent
His face displayed deep content
He had a strange percussion device
Sitting on his lap like shell of tortoise
Whether it was of wood or metal
From its looks I just couldn't tell
He was calm, unhurried at his practice
Not a care about his curious audience
He played with such confident ease
Rare sounds his instrument did produce
It sounded wooden with hint of metal
As he used his deft fingers very subtle
I have never heard such divine sound
Such one existed I didn't comprehend
Shame my flight's 'final call' was on
To avoid 'no show', I had to run
Few minutes of listening to his music
Brought to me a rare sense of bliss
Later check told me it was The Hang*
Playing it for a happy me, him I thank!
- - -
*A percussion instrument invented in Germany in 2000.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem