Written by George Gad Economou
every night dissipating in crepuscular, tiny rooms
there to vanish into the words and works of
those that lived in different eras, back when
traveling still required balls, guts, and determination to
brace untamed dangers, instead of patience to deal with
no real home to go to, not existing in any
country or city or continent, just pallid
existences with no purpose,
desperate to find solutions to problems
growing bigger every day in a Europe that claims
to be one nation, yet keeps its borders locked
behind barriers of
restrictions even for
its own citizens.
once, you only needed the balls to set sail, escape
the shackles of the old world and make a new
life in some virgin island.
now, you need five different documents, money, a job,
to show you belong in a mechanized, robotized world.
it’s all about the draw of the luck, where and when you’re
born—bureaucracy is made to protect the lucky few,
exclude the unlucky billions.
bureaucracy and god, after all, are the worst
loan sharks in history—both sired by the few that
despise the many.
Text © George Gad Economou
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