The Busker in the Lane
Poetry on Distorted Memory
What you remember may not be what you know.
🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻
I recall the tunes of old she played,
Shattered tunes that yanked at the core--
Her bow glided, knew your soul.
We watched her as night fell,
Way too scared to call.
The strings told tales
Beautiful.
Lonesome.
Sad.
🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻
She played each evening, when shadows fell.
Her tunes tales only you knew--
Bow dancing over strings
Calling. Reminding.
Once, I answered.
Her head--raised.
Her face--
None.
🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻🎻
Original poem by Michelle Liew. AI tags are coincidental.
About the Creator
Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin
Hi, i am an English Language teacher cum freelance writer with a taste for pets, prose and poetry. When I'm not writing my heart out, I'm playing with my three dogs, Zorra, Cloudy and Snowball.
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Comments (3)
Whimsical.
Wonderful use of th enonet to tell your story
This was so eerie. Beautifully unsettling.