It's a Saturday morning in the big busy city,
people hurry along, both dirty and pretty,
they all seem to be stuck in a hamsters wheel
which goes round and about from deal to deal.
They look into the windows like mirrors of own,
and some of them smile, and some of them frown.
But their personnel business makes them all alone.
In childhood maybe the pavement was fun
when they tried not to step on the lines by their run;
when they limped on the left and then on the right,
walked legs over cross, played from dawn till night.
Long time ago their lifes were all in a game,
pretending to be a grown up – or just the same
to be a heroe, an actor, a fairy, even a magical flame.
Well, today they did nothing but strolling along.
Then - all of a sudden - they hear a strange song;
in a distance there is a drummer to hear,
then after a moment a flute, playing dear.
Then joins to these two a trumpet, a bass,
a harpist, a violine, a guitar, a shawm made of brass
and at last comes a voice, clear like silvery glass.
The complete orchester is intoning a tune
which you and I really perceive very soon.
It is „Song of joy“ you might have guessed
All humans know it from the east to the west,
from north to south they can sing it by heart
and all the people join in from the start,
The silvery voice carries all with her part.
Nearby a little girl climbs a lantern on her own
and from there above, like on heavenly throne
she pretends to lead and conduct the whole crowds;
on summerly sky are floating some clouds
and the people, who hurried a moment before,
remain and have time; they don't hurry no more,
change from stolid to smile, forgetting quarrel and war.
You can easily guess what I'm talking about.
It's a flash mob which spreads over it's friendly sprout.
It hugs you the moment you never await,
and if you want to excape it will sure be too late.
It get's hold of your body, your soul and your mind
and soon you'll think different of other men's kind.
Maybe before you have been ignorant and blind.
Beethovens tune and Schillers lyrics last on,
centuries might pass, but these won't be gone.
They touched us before and they touch us today,
and whatever happens, which might make us sway:
If it comes floating to us on a busy days noon,
as long as we are singing together this tune.
My skin will shiver and goose pimples will strewn.
And when the music comes to it's end at last,
the crowd destroyes, but they leave not very fast.
It seems as if them all are fastend to the spot
and are waiting for the next surprisingly plot.
But after a while the place is like before,
only the music fades away through a far open door
and in the faces I can see: They are longing for more.
And to be honest: What we all only wish:
Freedom and peace; instead fight - a warm kiss,
time to hear music, time to meet friends,
time to learn everything until the world ends.
So let's ask for a flash mob every single day
and push people, who are different, no more away.
Doesn't matter their gender, their colour, their way.
©Margret Silvester, 09.09.2017