East Harlem…Day.
I stand dazed at the history this colony has written.
I’m smitten.
Forgiven for my sins here.
No one knows my pain here.
No one knows my name here.
Standing on the corner where it all began.
Uncle Sam, you have no idea how powerful we are. We built these streets with our songs. Tagged walls. Signature of a people. Stolen dreams, revealed in a spray can.
Uncle Sam…. Look up, the writing is on the wall.
We stand tall.
We were part of the master plan.
East Harlem.
Nights.Beats, rhythms Taino towers.
Strange powers.
We. Thousands of souls blended together.
Birds of a feather.
Walk down the block, cross the bridge and it’s another world.
Where you come from is in your eyes.
Uncle Sam. This is my clan.
People from all walks of life.
We were born in different places, we have difference faces, but ended all up in here on this Island of dreams.
Trying, fighting, aspiring, conspiring to make it big.
I can’t do this!
This is some pipe dream.
I can’t even fight clean.
I’m running out of steam.
There is no remedy.
My fantasies colliding with this harsh reality, like I’m a on a beam.
Balance,
balance,
fall.
Get up again.
Stand tall.
Balance.
Win.
Eleana Kouneli 
Eleana, A very movingly provocative piece that evokes and invokes simultaneously. I think of John Cage and how one can go to that area of East Harlem, such as that corner of 120th. Street and just listen, Listen to the sounds of the City, hear the voices of the past you conjured, not all pleasant sounds but every one significantly important.
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Every city has pleasant and unpleasant history. The voices are always there to guide us. The past always there to remind us. The sounds when we truly listen are not as cacophonous as we think. Thank you for your feedback as always!
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