Red
Losing grip of reality,
Losing their temper,
They condemn the past.
They fall for sadness
And solemn beauty
Of the Ancient Greece,
And the Mayan empire.
They start seeing red
When the structures they were used to
Are falling apart.
Because there'll be a new sort of stability,
A new hue of progress,
A new sense of space and time,
After things are over,
They'll keep considering themselves
To be 'the chosen ones'
And masters of their instincts.
Days without clean water,
Night of light earthquakes,
Confrontation,
The wounded,
The restless and uniform crowd...
Black ground,
Red flames,
People beside themselves
With cold, calculated anger,
Territories liberated step by step.
Day five.
Made of fire. Part five
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121120807987
Свидетельство о публикации №121120807987
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