Saturday, October 17, 2009

The Anonymous Artist (2)

A decade ago, the anonymous artist rested her elbows on that same window ledge, in the squalid flats where garish colours paraded their monstrosity before the scent of ploughed fields across the road. Protest songs blared in her ears, deafening her senses to the cold wind slapping her cheeks, as she followed the rebel singers into their search to commemorate history into a culture of remembrance.

The history she was enamoured of did not regard the countries that regaled her with the burden of citizenship. It was a country whose identity was hidden under misconceptions - the island of contradictory landscapes in a sea that witnessed the revolution of resistance. Poring over the faded photos of people swarming in the streets, the anonymous faces greeted her with a gesture of friendship and inclusion. Her mind swelled with appreciation and became a vagrant of past celebrations and mourning ... memories deflecting between triumph and the actual revelation of a slogan that implied resistance until death.

I wondered what memories inhabited the memory of loyalty through the years of solitude...

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