A slow maturing people. There is hope. In 360 years of democracy it will eventually rise. Once. Some generation will put them the gravestone.
Vain effort for them to be hedged. Their surnames don’t last long on them. A coverall unshaven teenage does not change into something else even if they all the crosses on a ballot paper.
Volunteer saviors are crowded. One more time. Psalms - screams. Obviously fake. They lack reason. They smuttily compare disasters. Unable to build lives.
History is erased from the second that became first. They brag. They find tolerance. A donation from people with no memory. Freedom is expensive. It is being digested from generation to generation. Race for a place in the public. Until the state melts, there are no descendants of rebels.
Missing image. It stands out among so many. Joy promise. It comes every time you meet it.