A girl in the streets, *****, untidy hair a scary look on the face plays
a violin facing
all the while
the man who hates it

One by one he
cuts
her strings but she
keeps playing without a single
alteration on her face

Not even after the
very
last
string has - with a final thud - been cut in half
does she stir

And only when -

It's only then that he does realise
grows pale and with wide eyes feels something sting:
the sound never came from the instrument.

He exhales
gives in
surrenders to the
vibrant sound surrounding
his every cell and hair and thought
bathes
in what ought to be
for so long