Sunday, 1 April 2012

Day 1 - The Flute

A speckled broom leans lightly 'gainst a wall
that in a southern sun gleams crisp and bright,
and shows the cracking paint in all its funk.
All framed by two ash trees to left and right.

A growth of vines has spurted to one side,
though of its crop but two small grapes remain.
The rest in metal buckets carried off.
And one such pail is left upon the plain.

A hooded figure enters from the north
and picks up broom and bucket in each hand.
Then  turns to wander slowly down the path,
with feet that know the contours of the land.

The land has known the seasons long and dry,
and crunches 'neath the hooded figure's boot.
The figure has but little to her name,
except her prized and precious silver flute.

Through all the toil and hardship of her part
that she plays out below the scorching sky.
The only thing that let her heart feel light,
was when she played her flute to passers by.

Her mum had passed it down to her years back,
along with knowledge of how flutes were played.
Her mother's mother passed it down to her.
None knew how long ago the flute was made.

But after many years of heavy work,
the world's become a harsher harder place.
She knows there's only one way to survive,
and that is something she cannot yet face.

But sell the flute she must to pay for food
if only for her little daughter's sake.
The pain is more than she can well endure
but hunger is a keener sharper ache.

So knowing this she takes out silver flute
And looks at it across the many years.
And for the first time and indeed the last,
she plays a tune just meant for her own ears.


  1. I was quite focused on the broom at first! Then remembered it is lovely poem about the flute!

  2. Thanks very much Sonal. Hope you are well. Glad you liked it.