The busker lay by the pearly gates, humming a simple tune,
And with no words he tried his best to make a deaf girl swoon.
She had heard for years ‘till bombs and tears stuck dust onto her face,
As our darkest hour entombed our power and marked our fall from grace
I asked the busker what it meant, the wordless song he sung.
He gestured for a penny more, to explain what he’d begun.
‘If we could choose how much to lose, it would not be a thing,
and widows wouldn’t cry clutching worthless diamond rings’
By the way I mused, I seemed confused, the busker said as much.
So queried how I would propose, to assist, to care, to touch.
Pointing forth he asked of me, to make a dumb one hear and see.
To take a child’s face in my hands, then light it up with joy and glee.
Nodding my head I turned away, and glanced onto the street,
To try and clear the film of dust, both in my head and round my feet
With every step that I did take, the pleasant sound decayed
Till the only choir to hear was fire, and screams of the betrayed
Amongst the rubble of our lives I came across one boy,
thought to myself ‘Our futures dreams - they will not destroy’.
With one last breath I gave no less, than all that I had learned
I hoped he listened with his heart, his trust I surely earned
The busker lay by the pearly gates, humming a simple tune.
I sat myself beside him there, joined in until the moon
rose in the sky as the child survived, for just another day.
Tomorrow could begin anew, we’d be there come what may
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