The Busker
Every now and then I chance upon a poem about busking. Here is one from littlenedved, a 21 year old poet from Australia:
THE BUSKER
Central Station 8am
The busker sits and plays his tune
I close my eyes…
i carries me, beyond the stars
beyond the moon
hes a modern bard
guitar case open
waiting for the people to discard
what little change their willing to pay,
to listen to him play today
sitting under the maple tree,
through the wind and through the rain,
he just sits there and keeps on playin.
His music carries underground,
and because of this, suddenly,
a new joy is found.
The buskers music helps me see,
that even through my lifes abyss ,
theres light out there…
I take solace in this
But i am sure hes unaware
of the hope in me,
that he’s inciting…
as my change jingles in his case,
he keeps on playing,
with naught but a wink and a smile.
So now i must depart,
to my own dismay.
But he wont leave,
the busker will just sit,
smile, and continue to play.