Sitting on the gallery benches, hear I the music tuning so well,
Drifting me afar
With the head kept on the palm
Hearing the music played by the circus artistes,
The orchestra band with the musicians
Playing the music and taking far.
Sitting on the gallery benches with the head on the palm,
Hear I the music
Taking me far away,
Transgressing the corridors and terraces
Of buildings,
Into unchartered domains of humanity.
Up above the orchestra men, the band players with some from the orphanage,
Below the circus artistes
Playing with the wild animals,
Bloody, bestial and brutal,
Denoting Nature untamable and the call of the wild,
Full of beasts and brutes.
I see the mahouts, bearmen, monkeymen, ring-masters in full swings,
The clowns on the asses,
The horsemen galloping,
The female circus artiste with the lions,
The mechanic driving the motorcycle in the cage,
Risking their life and goodness.
Sitting in the gallery benches hear I the circus music,
Taking me far,
Telling of life
Full of troubles, turmoil and tribulations,
The notes melancholic but beautiful,
Telling of the sad and solemn music of humanity.
The men at the nets, near the canopy or tent avenue readying to jump,
But the joker left behind,
Trailing and trying to jump
Without the rope ladder
Taking the name of God
And talking helplessness and being left alone.
