THE FEATHERS & GLITTER REVENUE

The last from the line, please come ahead! The unease you held in your wallet, the discussion about letting you get in or not because of your appearance, tiny tin soldier is not important in this town. The old cabaret singer hand in hand with the ghost train actor! Show some trace of sanity to the crowd at the main corridor, please! Show them what is good, poor legion of disbelievers… the luckiest ones are sitting on wheelchairs, convalescent, paying for their insolence against life. About the rest… let’s say that they just left to fertilize the fields, just in the name of progress. One autumn windy evening, a storm deleted them from being present, as numbers written with a pencil on a paper. Fortunately I got you in here, those looked down on by others. I can see some remaining decency pervading your ragged colorful wardrobe; it is the feathers and glitter revenue. A capital created on the discomfort, the necessity and the insecurity margin. A place of honor was earned maintaining the non-composure, the price maybe equals the loss, who knows through what sort of calamities is needed to wander to get that patina on. An accordion spreading in the air a wailing thin line of smoke, traveling slow but firm, through corners and dark alleys, until they get transformed in a ballad. When I look at you I see myself, struggling to tune the strings of my violin in the deafening chaos. You completed your part, I am almost there; I think we got it somehow. B_Nour