16 MARCH 1996, Page 32

Atonement

I remember a man carrying a piano On his back along the street, years ago, And looking down from our balcony in Cairo, Having a good laugh at the improbable sight Of him padding barefoot, bound tight And doubled up, not thinking of his plight But only of the absurdity - As it seemed to youth and frivolity Of a piano progressing through the city.

Now I hope I'm rid of western scorn And know that all are born, perhaps reborn, Either to stroke the keys or ply their brawn.

His ancestors might have hauled blocks of stone To build the pyramids; must we one day atone For not being forced to sweat and groan?

Matthew Mitchell