She is a street performer
She is a woman of all times
And all places
Alone
She is inconsequential,
Invisible, mute
A statue, a stone
With a beating heart.
She begs for alms
For mercy
For a glance
A second of your time
She is your mother
Your widow forsaken
Your lover forgotten
A woman like any other
She waits in hope
Prays that you will see
What you want to forget
As she remembers
unbuttoned or undone 
awesome
LikeLike
Thank you Noel. I know this picure looks like an illustration, but it is a photograph of the performer taken at night…
LikeLike
That just made me think of how many stories we loose.
LikeLike
Interesting thought. There are whole lifetimes forgotten; perhaps if we recorded them all we could not bear the suffering, and it is just as well that we have lost them. I dunno. Just saying.
LikeLike
That is an overpowering thought.
LikeLike
Agreed
LikeLike
At least there’s someone who can see her.
rjb
LikeLike
Thank you Jim. Yes, I saw her. She rose shortly after I took the picture and I had the opportunity to tell her how moving her still performance was for me. She smiled with half closed lids encrusted with plastered make-up and thanked me. It was like reaching through time.
LikeLike
Tu regardes, UnElephant regarde, chacun regarde.
Mais tu vois quelque chose different.
Tu es vraiment un génie.
LikeLike
Ah je ne sais pas! je vois avec les yeux de mon coeur, cela ne veut pas dire que je suis un genie… Mais je suis poete. Tu es trop gentil comme toujours.
LikeLike
How easily do we sometimes lose sight of people in our lives. Be they relations or merely acquaintances, they deserve at least recognition as fellow humans. Great post, Emm.
LikeLike