The Street Musician
|
Swarming traffic moving in precision Every sound that I hear makes its own rhythm Passers-by on foot, on segways, bikes and scooters From every direction they weave, like intruders Little do they know they all make up the symphony For the street musician whom they’ll be accompanying The foot cadence roars like percussions The vehicle wheels sound like bass, sometime rushing The traffic echoes the sounds of horns and strings of every imaginable kind The woodwinds are the auto brakes stopping right on time The chorus voices of the pedestrians have their parts in tune Ahhh! But ya gotta search for that street musician who won’t be taking up much room The background is a setting of towers and borders with clever designs The colors are not so much muted as they are lucid For the backdrop can change at any given time On any given day, through every given season But a street musician does not need a reason To play He plays; he plays, generally not for tradition He is not really concerned with the day’s events or conditions, Whether the trees are dancing naked or clothed Whether the rain is in motion or moving on down the road Everything becomes the audience for the Street Musician Someone generally no one knows. He is courteous and kind He is not out of his mind Why don’t you just let him be? Sometime he draws a crowd Even when he is not allowed For some folks are in utter disbelief This maker of mirth He can sit on the earth He can catch you off guard with a key He can play by the curb Pass him by; you won’t be disturbed He is someone most people don’t even see Oh he is good, yes he is good And anyone from his hood Can proclaim him when they hear his melodies Wherever he is he is centered And when you ears take hold, well you have just entered For his is a world of rhapsody What he plays he plays for you, Though some may not approve But others might just have to confess That he is giving his best, so give him respect For the music that grabbed you from the start must truly be some work of art He might already be famous It is the music industry that wants to claim us... through a name But he just wants to be free There is something quite deep... About this musician, so unique Though he seems ordinary, there is a hint of mystique It is not so much in the music he plays, but who he is That emanates through the performance he gives Cause those dollars in his bucket don’t really seem to appeal. If it were fame... surely that he could already claim If it were hunger... we could be here longer For it is his public he so unselfishly feeds Oh how he intrigues Curiosity of him won’t leave With proper timing I suppose one only has to inquire So I asked. Man of music, man of prose, tell me what you desire? His reply was fascinating but not really a surprise As he responded to me through the light of his eyes Yes he could play but his life’s story was even better And I could have listened all day to one so interesting, talented and bold Apart from entertaining, he has a story yet to be told I guess this street corner thing is his nexus He does play to impress us; even though that music of his could be sold I wonder if he realizes the treasures he holds? © Alfreda Darden, 2005 |
© Alfreda Darden, 2005 (poem) |
|---|
Street Musician