PIPER

Every day after my daily drill, I return

Like a weary soldier, wanting peace within

And around me, an escape to my world;

I find him, without fail, every day waiting

To alleviate my worries, he plays; auburn

Fingers gliding over the pipe held between

His lips. Melody, melancholy, love, lust,

All flow from him to me as I sit; a cup of tea

On my lap. Easing body and mind at once.

My window wide open, lest I miss a note

He flourishes now and then. Untimely, surprising

Bundles of harmony matched with tap of

Tin with sticks, stones made by gay urchins

Who sometimes visit. I see them come and go

Like sea storms. The piper remains, playing

His soul to all. What he eats, sleeps, I know not.

Except, that is, of the food packages I accidently

Drop near his shabby blanket on the road.

He pauses, I hurry. And he begins a new tune.

People grown so used to him, he will for sure

Be missed, perhaps more than the impugn

Minister whose statue stands at the bazaar, it will soon

Rust more like the State, be rotten and doomed.

The piper pulls his blanket closer each day,

His emaciated limbs curling beneath. I am scared

Every day I return, fearing the black blanket

And the brown piper will be gone unprepared

Into the bliss. Leaving me in this untoward world.

I pray, O Lord, let the piper survive and his pipe keep playing

So that every day I shall look forward to something.

And when the ax hangs on his neck, i too shall accompany

With love of a fellow-being, prepare him for another journey.