This poem is about a guy who fell in love with a busker (a person who entertains people for money in public places such as by singing or dancing).
Born with a
silver spoon , And raised
with a Bentley,
I was a boy
of hardly twenty.
They called
me a spoiled brat, A man
with no heart
Anyways they
were right
I was a bit
way-ward.
What was I doing
with life, I barely had
any clue
What I did
all day was strum the guitar
For that was
all I knew.
Aimless,
lifeless I roamed the streets, In search of
love
Until I walked
down street number 19
And got sure there’s someone above.
I stumbled
across the lane, Where I saw
her
A girl
playing a violin
Yes, she was
a busker.
Philosophers
have got the words, Poets could
describe her better
Quite
unfortunate on my part
‘cause I was neither.
She stood
there , With her
eyes open yet closed
Playing a
soft melody
Into which
she was completely devoured.
With people
circled around her, And music
tearing apart my husk
I could only
hear the metallic sound of coins
Dropped into
her box.
The song
ended, The people
were gone
I Kept
staring at her from the same place
While she
packed and left alone.
Suddenly my
life, Seemed to
have known no heights
All I remember
is painting the sky green and trees red
that night.
I kept
humming the solo, Dreaming her
soft fingers pacing on the violin
She had
weaved the magic
The kind of
which I felt deep deep within.
I went to
talk the next day, With a brave
heart, for I was a bit shy
Ended up
standing motionless
After the
music I was hit by.
Days rolled
by, And I just couldn't talk
I was in
love
And was
still being a complete jerk.
I finally
summoned the courage, Mustered up
the strength
I had to
talk the next day
I began
counting each breath.
Dressed up
in my usual attire, Hormones dripping
out from every gland
I left for
the street
With a
bright red rose in hand.
Seeing her
standing alone, I felt lucky
I praised
the Lord
And walked
down towards her slowly.
What
happened next, I never
could elude
I wish I could
stop the clocks
Oh! I wish I
could.
Just as I was
a few meters apart, Just as the
day seemed all whole and hearty
She got hit
by a mad car
Probably drunk
from last night’s party.
People
circled around her, But this
time for a different reason
The rose had
died
And I felt like caged in a prison.
She is dead, For over 10
years now
All these
days I have lived
I still wonder how.
With all my
wealth, It might be
hard to imagine
But I have moved
on
And now a
busker at street no.19.
