The Nameless Ones

The Nameless Ones

I happened to notice them there,
Hiding behind the skirts of others
As they sat in their allotted corner,
And made sounds that had no.words,
Expressions of another culture,
Where the foibles of their craft was quickly lost,
On the vapid minds of the pretentious,
Who claimed to understand the fabric
Of a conceited Emperor's wardrobe.

They had no names, no claim to be remembered,
As the august throng loudly drowned them
In their useless noise, and heard their sound,
But failed to listen or perceive the meaning
Of the gentle sound that listed nervously
Between the harsh voices of the self-absorbed.
But yet, the indifferent and ravenous audience
Sucked the marrow from their strange forms
So carelessly, and spat it on the filthy floor.

Nobody saw them work for countless years
To show their voiceless craft,
The aching hands, the tireless discipline
Of making sound to please another,
While the gaudy work of two mere years
Was elaborated on with gusto.
And nobody saw them leave:
They only played the music.
But they were leaving too.

An expression of frustration at the disinterest shown towards my wonderful music students when they played at a school Art exhibition. I had to ask the Principal to acknowledge them AFTER the speeches were given. Beijing 2017