The Cello player at the street corner
turned many a heads
and sharpened
many a ears…
As the bow rode
over the taut strings of the Cello
Many ‘brows became bow-like,
sheer annoyance.
A few paused,
confirmed all is fine
before continuing on their way
to their own felicity.
Few others
stalled their stroll
consigned to oblivion for a moment
got lured to the four strings.
To that single bow,
the moving hands,
the quivering fingers,
on a gold-lit night.
That made music
so heavenly and deep
mildly squeaking but mostly stringy
with random pitch et al.
Rising now, falling then
Nuances of the notes…
An enflé here, a coulé du doigt there
Plainte, a-plenty.
All in a train
moving along merrily
reflecting on the face
of the Entertainer.
MyRefractions 