Antony, street poet: a word, a few notes, a poem
Antony, the poet with the harmonica
My name is Antony, the poet, but here in the street, I'm simply called "the poet".
I don't have a house. Sometimes I have a bench, a corner of the sidewalk, a piece of cardboard, and, above all, my harmonica. It's my companion. It knows my silences, my cold nights, and all the stories I can't bring myself to tell.
When people walk past me, I don't ask them for money.
I ask them for a word.
Just one.
I told them:
"Give me the first word that comes to mind."
And I thought about it for 5 seconds and I said:
" Love. "
Then Anthony brought his harmonica to his lips.
He blew a few notes, softly. A simple melody rose into the air. Then he began to speak.
“Love… it’s funny, you know. People often think love belongs to those who have a house, a family, jewelry, or someone waiting for them behind a door. But I found it outside. I found it in the hot coffee a stranger offered me one winter morning. In the hand of a little girl who gave me a coin without looking away. In the smile of a woman who, every evening, walked past me and simply said, ‘Good evening, take care.’ Love may not be about possessing someone. It may simply be about reminding them that they exist. I don’t have much. But when someone gives me a word, they give me a little piece of their world. And with that word, I give them back a story. So, tonight, if you ask me what love is worth, I’ll tell you this: Love doesn’t fit in a house. It fits in a look.” It fits in an outstretched hand. It fits in a song played on the sidewalk. And sometimes… It fits in a single word a stranger whispers in your ear.
Then he picked up his harmonica again.
A few more notes.
And for a few seconds, the passers-by were no longer passers-by.
We were simply human beings who had met.
And perhaps, somewhere between his music and our silences, love had just passed by.
Receiving differently
This encounter made me think.
We sometimes tend to think that the one who is in need is necessarily the one who receives.
But on that day, I was the one who received something.
I had given a word.
He gave me a poem.
I had given a few seconds of my attention.
He gave me an emotional experience.
And his harmonica transformed this ordinary encounter into a brief, suspended moment.
In the end, I simply wanted to give back what I could.
I looked at him and said:
"God bless you. Jesus Christ is Love."
I don't know what that sentence meant to him.
But I know what she meant to me.
It was my way of saying thank you to him.
Jesus Christ is Love
This encounter reminded me that love can be found where you least expect it.
Sometimes, all it takes is to stop for a few moments, look at the other person and make room for them in our day.
That day, I simply gave one word: Love .
Antony, however, transformed it into music and poetry.
And in return, I gave him a blessing.
God bless you, Antony. Jesus Christ is Love.
First-hand account from August 24th with a homeless person in the PACA region
Blog written by A. Hadassah
