Daniel Barenboim

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Within the realm of classical musical
there flies a dove,
one whose sight was ever set on heaven.

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Superlative leader,
master extraordinaire of the army
of wind and fleeting string;
director of booming kettle drums.
Your baton is the match that sets
every note and being to blaze
beneath its absolute assurance.

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We see your warmth, 
we see your love:
that man beneath the music,
with his bravest of voices,
calling for sanity, for wisdom;
a builder only of bridges,
between people, between continents, 
between instruments.
And then, that man
submerged, we see rise
the creature of winged visions,
who arrives in a blaze
of sentiment aflame,
his love now commanding sound.

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Within your consummate timing
we rest, secure to the ends of the earth.
We trust in you,
and doing so you bring to life
that greater power in each player,
as though they were each there waiting,
not quite themselves,
not quite complete:
each one a circle drawn with one segment misplaced.

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Until, with you,
they find their calling,
and sing true at last, 
their voices and hearts tuned, 
at last, to the divine.

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And then, together,
one hundred musicians, 
primed to your universal truth,
they speak,
orchestrated in one understanding,
in one direction,
their sight found,
their every eye set on heaven.

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DG