The Story of Joshua Bell

They don't speak those walls only absorb scraps of life the stench of urine lucky pennies desperate art and a ringing clamber of voices that move with every rush of air down winding subway tunnels here life collides in status and in thunders those walls bear witness to many miseries and many wonders on this day the subway walls mesmerised by a sight never seen before lamented the death of beauty as it passed thousands gracefully and ignored rushing skirts, pants, collars, cologne rushing fingers, slender, darting in a blur hollow minds, tempers, hellos and goodbyes hollow music, echoing, not a soul does it stir lost man to the intricate beauty of pattern lost eyes of passerbys to the empty roundabouts of life fickle strings snapping with the stress of exertion fickle ambition, love, expectation and strife they were all mixed together in a bowl of concrete walls they whirled six of Bach's greatest works a handcrafted violin from 1713 played by one of the greatest violinists in the world he played incognito only six people stopped 20 gave him money and then continued to walk a three year old boy was drawn to the sound his mother let him listen his eyes wide and astound but watches soon tick and they tick too loud and they drive the crowd forward as if stopping is not allowed Joshua Bell let his bow fall limp as the last of his music was swallowed by the whitenoise of life and screeching metro trains the only sound of applaud soon stolen by a new rush of air the subway walls silent reflect people would find peace in the thick of life if only they would connect.