Sweet memories of the past
From the ages; Whether I express technology, science, space or whatever, I remain indecisive. A period that flows fast enough to despise what happened the day before and what happened yesterday. It is a period in which people who do not like what they do and who bend their nose even from what they live.
Two thousand and seventeen years. The Earth that is remembered "as far as we know", said to have overturned two thousand years, as the calendar shows. Also stuck in the thousands; the years when people who were in love for a long life and who went to their head as if they were never going to die continue to breathe.
It's December. As far as it is taught in primary school ages; with the intention of relieving the tiredness of the last year, getting rid of the excesses, calm down next year, and giving better service to the living beings. On the one hand, he continues to offer his last remaining fruits. A month in which "exemplary" events take place, telling that every existence has an end.
It does not hurt me that in which year, in which month of which season we are. People who take my count of time frames and get into the drunkenness of what happened do not interest me at all. Even; Even if all of us are surrounded by immorality, ruthlessness, injustice and many evil walls.
It is how many people we will help from this turmoil, how many logs we will save from this flood flowing into Hell. That's why I don't think, write and shout.
I'm going out into the street. People have the same faces; The same continues to laugh laughing, making a sad face, looking like the nervous one will beat. It is moving at the same pace, getting into his private vehicle and without turning his head left and right, without taking his eyes off in front of him, in case I have to take a familiar interest. It even continues to splash mud on those who walk next to it from the same holes.
I'm going to the bazaar to the market. All the same; The subject of the conversations is the same, the uproar, the purse, one thousand money. The winner continues to grow, stepping on the backs of the bottom ones, while the borrowed debt is lying and getting up with its due date. Big fish continue to swallow small fish with more appetite.
I browse around, screens, and newspapers; turbines full. The ratings of the TV series are high, they are full of illustrated newspapers with the ambition to distract people from the real agenda and publish news out of anxiety for tragedy.
And the most painful is that I want to come. I'm trying to make you wonder. In this May season, with giant screen televisions, with advanced technology screens showing how many millions of colors instantly, without worrying about the end; Those who watch it like a movie without pity, sending no signal from eyes to minds and hearts.
In the pages of the history he brags about, the first feeling saved by the blow to the face of the powerful is the ones who remain insensitive to the fall of our innocence. I cannot continue anymore and I end by repeating again.
Actually! Does history write these too? You say.