Writing Lyrics For The Deaf And Mute Poem by Edgar Eslit

For one Euro or two, in an octave
I’d mastered not from Mozart, I composed
”Remember” song for Angel Lyn, who
sat silent with a golden crib beside my chair.
She loved the song in return, the lyrics
plotted out in sign pen or black ball-point ink.
This is Dod composing, she had me say,
and children, often, when they sing, added
postscripts that began 'give me your hand'
as if I wouldn’t mutter their tunes aloud.
'I’ll show you the way', they repeated. 'To the place.
where fantasy lies, making our dreams come true.'
When one woman had her daughter compose for me,
she folded that sheet inside her purse
so Nicoli John, holding the envelope,
smiled and said, “It’s good one, made in two pages.”
Straight out, that girl said her mother wanted
us to meet, that the verses of that song resound
and my way of plotting the higher do’s showed I was
a lad to be trusted when they have grown.

Before she paid me in jewels and gemstones,
from a silver box on the table,
Nicoli John counted every gem by two’s
a testing, for sure, because everybody
knew the deaf sensed better than the abled one,
and I rested awhile, not sensing, until
a familiar woman mailed a package poststamped
for me. It lay so quietly, so bare
on the message I read, “The three jewels in two’s
are for Dod, ” giving myself a raise.
Would Angel Lyn believe I was worth it?
Would she consider her gemstone’s value and have them
in my position? In fact, I thought it is so,
because I wouldn’t mind, keeping something
from those mute and deaf what I thought I deserve.
But it doesn’t sound over in that song;
it’s playing all along