On the Wings of Hope : Prose

Fyodor :- Faces covered with fear?

V.V.P. :- Their fall is coming near!

Fyodor :- Many covered with fur, no escape from own moor?

V.V.P. :- Those, who have abandoned God, doomed themselves to groan and rot.

Fyodor :- Yankees must repentance feel …

V.V.P. :- They are killing others still …

Fyodor :- Who will them accept abroad? Poor fates for now they’ve got!

V.V.P. :- All worthy ones will make through sea, what for the rest - I cannot see …

Fyodor :- Oh, what a pitiful the end! A fitting end for continent.

V.V.P. :- Capitalism made them like mad. Feodalism now welcomes, lad!

Fyodor :- They are dividing quickly so … how many “kingdoms” in the row?

V.V.P. :- Just like as many as the states … Run overseas all Wall Street’s mates!

Fyodor :- No one escapes the Justice Law!

V.V.P. :- Feel no repentance? It means … oh …

Fyodor :- Those ones escaping from the fate will more trouble only bait.

V.V.P. :- Ships may think without link … of your actions one must think!

Fyodor :- Look what Yankees brought on them …

V.V.P. :- Nature’s wrath is like a ram! Whirlwinds and tsunamis maybe coming from the seas …  

Fyodor :- This is quite instructive, yes … evil ones are making mess.

V.V.P. :- Quite long ago it has been told. Still people strife for wealth and gold.

Fyodor :- They are the lesson for this world, ones who rejected divine chord …

V.V.P. :- This nation bears own guilt … and hate like poison makes them wilt.

Fyodor :- Their brother-Jew … what of these ones?

V.V.P. :- Ivan, show us those “chosen” sons.

Once again having sadly sighted directly into the camera, Ivan sighs with relief and soars under heavens once again, and, being guided by reference points known only to him, flies straight in the direction of a sacred hail, because of which sanctity there was so much human blood, probably not so sacred, spilled already. On approaching, however, it becomes obvious that the sky over Jerusalem is densely covered with black-gray clouds, here and there lightnings are sparkling, illuminated dark horizon, and heavy rain has already started. Either a mind abuse or Ivan’s caustic snicker can be heard in the camera, and she, camera, starts of become covered by more than live drops of moisture. Then, however, the hand of operator waves before televiewers, which in all its immense power with ease wipes the camera in a flash of time, and unambiguously exposes to everyone its thumb, raised vertically up.

Five more seconds passes and before looking into their TV screens auditory a shocking unprepared watcher view opens itself: it’s clearly visible how large masses of people gathered before sorrowly known Wailing Wall and in some sort of drunk waste, more, however, reminding frenzied despair, are bashing their heads against this so sorrowly known wall. They are hitting it, however, not so strongly and seriously, because no a single one from them, as the look suffices, bears no visible signs of a blow with own forehead. Deaf sounds “bom!” accompanied by high shrieks “Ai!”, “Ouch!” and even “Eh time, one more time!” fill space. The picture reminds an attempt of national public repentance not the most original way. Drops of moisture, beating about a pavement, complete this pitiable picture of crying.

V.V.P. :- Just look, my friend, at Wailing Wall - the Jews are “paying” their toll!

Fyodor :- Oh my! With heads they are bashing walls! Is that the way to reach their goals?

V.V.P. :- They beat themselves like in frenzy, for long have been living in the lie…

Fyodor :- A heaven’s fire fell on town, and “chosen” one was stripped of crown?

V.V.P. :- Was making money all the way … and thus become their own prey.

Fyodor :- Water with fire will cleanse all, thought it was not their own goal.

V.V.P. :- What do you think of them, my friend, what is the future of this land?

Fyodor :- Here’s my thought without catch - for greed of some we need a patch.

V.V.P. :- There are wolves among the lambs …

Fyodor :- In USA wolves built their tombs!

V.V.P. :- Their guns are useless all for now, in own traps they steadily fall.

Fyodor :- When conscience dropped in the urn, the sun’s becoming hot and burn?

V.V.P. :- Whose speech is brutal, full of hate may know what role sun plays in fate.

Fyodor :- Without nature one lives not. What of officials and their sort?

V.V.P. :- I’m afraid they aren’t glad.

Fyodor :- I didn’t get it - what is that?

V.V.P. :- Without money thieves went mad.

Fyodor :- And what of those who stole not much?

V.V.P. :- For their wealth they tried to clutch.

Fyodor :- Can this be seen in color mode?

V.V.P. :- A nice cutscene we have got.

Fyodor :- And that reply is quite unclear.

V.V.P. :- Oh yes, we’ll see, ‘cause it’s quite near.

Camera soars up again, taking off from a zone of black clouds, and sets course for a Moscow. After a short duration still recently black sky suddenly lights up with sunshine, patches of which light starts playing here and there on lens only known to them chords. Through totally short time before televiewers the image of St. Basil’s Cathedrals flows out in a real time, and the panorama of Red Square reveals from a bird’s flight height. It’s clearly visible how along specified square under a military escort all first officials of the state, who have now become the last ones, are moving, spitefully looking around on by no means loyal to them military forces and celebrating people. From the site of aforementioned last ones obscene abuses and promises “to restore justice” can be overheard - what sort of justice they are talking about, however, isn’t known. Escorts periodically kick them, helping to get into the prepared armored vans under encouraging exclamations of standing nearby people. On faces of thieves of Russian State, departing into exile, a totally genuine mix of fear, surprise, melancholy and disappointment can been distinguished. By all means it’s obvious that they surely didn’t expected such sort of ending.

Fyodor :- I see they all now in the run, without power, with no fun?

V.V.P. :- Official fell from all the tops with little help from Russian cops!

Fyodor :- He made a monument of him …

V.V.P. :- It didn’t honored him, it seem.

Fyodor :- His end I think is rather dim …

V.V.P. : - Comedy ended, here’s “fin”.

Fyodor :- He is escaping oversea, but cannot hide and cannot flee.

V.V.P. :- And all good men do live in hope … this inner robbery has stopped.

Fyodor :- And what is that? They are groaning “no” but in Siberia still go?

V.V.P. :- They are leaving Kremlin in the tracks, abusing all with useless “fuck”s!

Fyodor :- I will show nothing like respect before those Kremlin-thieves-sect …

V.V.P. :- They’ve been exiled in distant lands for Russia’s tired of these “bands”.

Fyodor :- What, check and mate? It’s just in time! I’m overjoyed in the rhyme!

V.V.P. :- The second escort do you see?

Fyodor :- These liberals will not get free!

V.V.P. :- Both parties cursing each one, well … and moving now in parallel …

Fyodor :- Just look at how they blame each other! To curses I won’t listen rather!

V.V.P. :- They will have great time together … I will not watch “reunion” rather!

Fyodor :- I have all reasons to believe! Woe to traitors and to thieves …

V.V.P. :- Once common men exiled they, but life now offered mirrored way!

Fyodor :- The Russia’s pillage will not last! Where is the axe from former “past”?