The Walkman

A silver brick, or maybe plastic bright, The Walkman held our worlds in pure delight. With headphones perched, a personal domain, Where music flowed, escaping every chain. A cassette nestled with a gentle click, Our chosen soundtrack, doing its sonic trick. Through bustling streets or quiet country lanes, It painted landscapes, washing out the pains. The whirring gears, a soft and constant hum, As melodies and rhythms overcome The mundane sounds, the chatter and the din, A private concert playing from within. With buttons pressed for play, fast forward, pause, We curated moments defying all the laws Of shared experience, embracing solitude, Lost in the music, understood, imbued. On buses, trains, or jogging in the park, It carved a space, a solitary arc. A shield against the world, a comforting embrace, A personal haven found in time and place. Now streaming whispers on devices sleek, The Walkman's bulk feels almost antique. Yet in its memory, a fondness lingers deep, For tangible music, secrets it would keep. So let us smile remembering that friend, Whose simple magic knew no earthly end. The poignant Walkman in its humble way, Allowed us soundtracks for each passing day. ©bfa040525