A busy sidewalk scene in Warsaw during the afternoon rush
Rush hour walkers
Moving with purpose; unheeding, uncaring
of those who are the street scene.
A father, a son, a flimsy table.
Portable. folding legs. street vendors.
Millimetres from mindless pedestrian flow.
Large long impossibly delicate vases for sale
Too many for the table top
Pregnant with the potential
of shattering finality; worthless shards on the walk below.
Against the building wall,
The boy, half slumbering, protected by his father`s arm.
uncaring of the world, nestled against his father`s strength.
The man, with the practised calm of silent survival,
Surveys his priceless, fragile wealth.
Calmly defiant. cloaked in dignity.
Walkers pass; indifferent counterpoint
To the fragility brushstroking the moment.
The father resolute, the boy loved, the vases intact,
Their world, impossibly in balance. His treasure
Held there in the crook of his arm.
The Maestro, passing another day with simple grace,
On the tightrope of life.
Poetry by josephus
Read 594 times
Written on 2019-03-10 at 02:32
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Nowy Swiat 16:00
A street in WarsawRush hour walkers
Moving with purpose; unheeding, uncaring
of those who are the street scene.
A father, a son, a flimsy table.
Portable. folding legs. street vendors.
Millimetres from mindless pedestrian flow.
Large long impossibly delicate vases for sale
Too many for the table top
Pregnant with the potential
of shattering finality; worthless shards on the walk below.
Against the building wall,
The boy, half slumbering, protected by his father`s arm.
uncaring of the world, nestled against his father`s strength.
The man, with the practised calm of silent survival,
Surveys his priceless, fragile wealth.
Calmly defiant. cloaked in dignity.
Walkers pass; indifferent counterpoint
To the fragility brushstroking the moment.
The father resolute, the boy loved, the vases intact,
Their world, impossibly in balance. His treasure
Held there in the crook of his arm.
The Maestro, passing another day with simple grace,
On the tightrope of life.
Poetry by josephus
Read 594 times
Written on 2019-03-10 at 02:32
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
|
