Battering on the community door. “Let me in”, she screamed. Still there was silence, a hush not there before. She felt their mental eyes on her, they knew she was here and they condemned her. She had done nothing except be the one they scapegoated, the one they kicked, the one on which they emotionally pounded out their life’s frustrations and their angers at more difficult foes, past and present. They wouldn’t keep her locked out for ever, they needed her. They needed the punchbag that she was to them so that they could keep their lives in balance.
On Brooklyn’s sidewalks, Jamal’s halal cart stands beside Olga’s empanadas. Aroma, stories, and laughter intertwine. A kaleidoscope of culture, where hearts embrace the notes of each other’s songs. It’s New York; it’s a jigsaw that’s more beautiful for its pieces.
The room, with its heavy curtains, is a theatre. Souls take to the stage, in their assorted garb, voices poised. Each role distinct, yet harmonious. The tapestry of voices weaves a story, both transient and enduring. A symphony for those willing to listen.
Earth – where differences paint the town red. Humans, a cosmic soup of strangeness. But watch them stand in circles, not letting certain kinds in. “Break the darn circles!” yells the Universe, waiting for the invite.
she never quite fit in. not with the “in” crowd, not with the rejects. she was okay with that, though. in fact it was better. she was going to do something wild tonight something daring, something dangerous. if they don’t want to include her, she doesn’t have to include them.
Battering on the community door. “Let me in”, she screamed. Still there was silence, a hush not there before. She felt their mental eyes on her, they knew she was here and they condemned her. She had done nothing except be the one they scapegoated, the one they kicked, the one on which they emotionally pounded out their life’s frustrations and their angers at more difficult foes, past and present. They wouldn’t keep her locked out for ever, they needed her. They needed the punchbag that she was to them so that they could keep their lives in balance.
On Brooklyn’s sidewalks, Jamal’s halal cart stands beside Olga’s empanadas. Aroma, stories, and laughter intertwine. A kaleidoscope of culture, where hearts embrace the notes of each other’s songs. It’s New York; it’s a jigsaw that’s more beautiful for its pieces.
The room, with its heavy curtains, is a theatre. Souls take to the stage, in their assorted garb, voices poised. Each role distinct, yet harmonious. The tapestry of voices weaves a story, both transient and enduring. A symphony for those willing to listen.
Earth – where differences paint the town red. Humans, a cosmic soup of strangeness. But watch them stand in circles, not letting certain kinds in. “Break the darn circles!” yells the Universe, waiting for the invite.
she never quite fit in. not with the “in” crowd, not with the rejects. she was okay with that, though. in fact it was better. she was going to do something wild tonight something daring, something dangerous. if they don’t want to include her, she doesn’t have to include them.