One day, the crowd will gather around the wronged person; not out of curiosity, but through a surge of unity. Even solidarity will be discarded, for it is a term implying a partial sense of egoism obscured with the charitythat promotes material generosity.
The solitary tears will create cascades of water, threatening to engulf the entites that destroyed minds and liberties at random.
But when I look at the silhouette the pen falters, and the balconies in cities and other central places stare, as stately as ever. Carpets, ribbons and other garish trinkets clutter the quiet alleyways, annihilating the only respite from the maddening confusion.
A face peering though the curtains hesitates as sunbeams illuminate the listless eyes. Is it fear that instigates blame, or blame that instigates fear?
Either way, the face vanishes behind the heavy drapes ...
I like to think that the gesture was one of defiance, rather than terror. For when I gazed at the scene again, the carpets, ribbons and trinkets were as tattered as a beggar's clothes.
And that face became an anonymous artist.