I wrote this poem when I was in my hometown Krakow last autumn. I spent days strolling around the Old Town and observing crowds, pigeons and eccentric street artists. As a result, I dedicate this short love story to Krakow and its buskers – here is Part 1 and Part 2 follows next week.
A Busker’s Love Song – Part 1
Pink-glazed clouds hoist frayed sails
over pilgrims, tourists, ghosts; they flock
around a busker as he folds his wings, frail
golden sheen and half the feathers lost
like his ragged repute. Some idle thoughts
burst into mind and soul as he admires how
a lonesome painter’s brush slipped across
indigo canvass of the unsuspecting sky.