solace

Melody

The world is a jukebox,
Playing every imaginable sound.
Those that bound, glide, spring and sing,
Promiscuous in corners, and bears itself for a dime.
You never know what symphony awaits
At the end of a busy Singaporean street,
The chorus of life, soft, in a heart beat.
If you’re quiet you will hear,
The hymn of the nightingale seducing the sunlit sky,
The hushed whispers of aunties scampering for truth,
The apologetic screech of rubber on tar,
The desperate horn, rude and uncouth;
And the understanding sigh of the boy lying on the street,
Songless and lifeless-- from his eyes to his feet.