In the serene solitude of New York’s First Avenue.
In front of the United Nations.
A breeze always seems to blow.
And as ….
With HEAVY idealism.
We are anxious to ride the zephyr.
Still, we are apprehensive…
Worried – At that which – We do not know.
Worried where the W I N D S may take us.————————–
Still, we leap into the infinite blue HOPE.
Exerting our eyelids on reports of red dirt. In the wish we may wash it clean with white linen.
Words by Austin Schiano-Painting by Delia Ioana Lungan