Those Cobblestone Streets

The aged cobblestone streets whisper
with the sounds of
feet shuffling in every direction
Joy radiates
as flowers bound from buildings,
Spreading alluring colors.
The cobblestones were assembled with a memory of centuries past,
As if the city was attempting to grasp onto every last bit
of the country’s violent history.
The statues were discolored with the rebellious remains of those from wars of former times.
Frozen with the faces of determination and independence,
Marked with the bullet holes of those who lost their lives to the cause,
Of independence.
And now, today,
The air is contagious with blissful euphoria
the city beamed with the sounds of talented street performers.
The bright green blades of grass peaked in between the bricks of the streets,
As if playing a great game of hide and seek.