The Troubadour by Julius Motal

Blinded by the screaming lights,
the Troubadour is lost
in the flashing sounds
of interconnected steel.

At the weathered entrance
to the metal snake’s tunnel,
the Troubadour strums for everyone,
but is acknowledged by no one.

Over the roar of the metal snake,
He looks to me and screams,
“MY BROTHER! Have a good evening.”
The words echo everywhere.

Countless beings full of vitality
walk on past the Troubadour.
The sounds pound on their drums,
and seize control of their minds.

The Troubadour’s pouch lays empty,
the sign of another day gone by.
The Troubadour remembers nothing,
only to begin again tomorrow.

photo by Chris Gampat