Pained, writhing masses of people
Desperately screaming, their voices,
Layer upon layer, weaving a tapestry
Of sound, stitched with threads of hope
And embroidered with the blood of failure.
Can anybody hear us?
Nothing to add to this chaotic mess,
I let this river of sound bear me away,
Assign the fountain of God inside me
To a lonely, cold, and desperate place:
Can anybody hear me?
His voice, never been louder.
His tune, never been sweeter.
For a moment, people pause, listen.
Then, not understanding, they churn on,
Lifting their voices to drown him out.
Can anybody hear him?
She sits below them all, murmuring.
Her tongue is foreign, her eyes, exotic.
She is dangerous.
No one looks at her, lest her spell be cast,
So a secret of beauty dies in her throat.
Can anybody hear her?
Screaming in a crowd who cannot hear,
I see the singing boy, bright-eyed girl.
We join hands, stare out sorrowfully
At the disconnected, unhappy people.
We’re quiet, because we hear each other.