You can find him making love in narrow streets
To his violin, his willowy figure lost in darkness
Playing a silent lyric, melancholic, a lyric of loneliness
As he goes unnoticed, unheeded, unperceived.

He fondles the neck of his venerated lover
Closes his eyes to gently strike its strings
With a jaded bow as prim passersby pretend
Not to see, fix their gaze on Roman pebbles

Yet slow their step, not one soul is left untouched,
Reluctantly moved by a strident dissonant truth
Suggesting the lonesomeness of a collective despair,
Alas, discerned, widespread and well-shared.

He takes a pause, caresses the instrument’s
Silky wooden body, opens his eyes seeking contact
A glimpse of human touch, ungiven, until
He resumes his love-making with a different cadence

Playing a mellifluous lyric, bucolic, a lyric of calmness
Diffusing as scents in the wind notes of hope, infusing
A rekindled feeling of togetherness, reigniting
The undying belief that the future will be bright,

Passersby halt their journey, abandon roman pebbles
To look up, at the willowy figure dawning to glow
As if their eyes were spotlights granting him attention
With a smile and a nod he says hello.

[Featured photo: Street artist by artist unknown]