On The Wings of Hope : Prose

Have you not drunk enough blood of humans, your scaly bellies growing constantly? Whether you will keep yourself with those tentacles of yours on spiritual bodies of those living just life, when tears of heavens will start purifying them soon enough? Washed away you will be in an instant, like tiny chips swimming you will be in muddy waters, to water drain flowing. But predefined is the way of those dirty streams, for always downwards they flow, and, having a non-return point crossed, in depths of sewers are being washed off, sobbing at last. But even the last tears of them - are crocodile ones, muddy.

Or do you think, by chance, that no sort of justice is present in that world, and indefinitely can you parasitize in it? The time was given for each and every living one to make up his Soul and mind, yet having almost run out already, for on a new stage of evolution the universe is rising right now, and the predicted revision of everyone’s deeds is not far behind by all means. Last life is granted before the audit mentioned in thick world in bodies physical - but even that last chance for survival in urns you throw unreasonably, and in a crimson flame start burning and burying.

Blood and tears of others in your hands you continue keeping, and how will you present it to the God himself in His Court? To splash out all those possessions you’ll try from blood-stained hands of yours, but whether you will be able to, I wonder? And in what moisture have you been washing those hands of yours if not in sky tears, of you, dying ones, crying? And laugh at those tears you do, silencing voices of own conscience, and mock you do, crafty ones of this world remaining. Whether you know, what is going to happen with similar ones, I wonder? To drink heavenly tears mentioned you’ll be obliged to soon enough, and how painfully and bitterly that would be for you, in sweet of avidity and fog of illusions living?

Or do you believe that only to consume endlessly you can, giving back to the world nothing in return practically, and highest sort of cunning of yours is that? To deceive man you can, but no powers to elude from the Law of Divine Justice you are given. Vision and hearing organs of parasites do atrophy steadily, and what happens with blind ones, to holes creeping, have been told already long ago, rightfully. What will remain after you in this world for others’ joy and consolation - have you thought, I wonder? And if a naked zero remains silently - would thy cost more than that, I ask thee? For based on everyone’s affairs and deeds he’s given.

Rob and deceive people you do, as smart ones considering yourself during those unrighteous actions. Or have you concluded that mind and Spirit are the same? Boundless the meanness of thy minds have become. Endless the laziness of thy hearts has become. Uncountable the greed of thy hands has become. Tragic the fate of thy Souls has become.

And if the planet is going to be purified soon enough - whether you have thought, from whom it will be cleared first and foremost? From time to time you do feel that with rest of your dimmed conscience, truly. Or do you believe that straight into chaos this world you can roll infinitely, and for miles and miles suffer your excesses it will? Excess of civilizations long-forgotten it didn’t suffer, and those of current parasites won’t sustain endlessly. With tears of world oceans will it flood you, with air tornadoes will it scatter you, with earth shifts and failures will it absorb you, with beams of sun will it burn you. Scream then will you, but too late for you. Cry then will you, but with no reason for you. For by own deeds one is being judged and gifted.

For what reason unknown on the ground you still creep for a while, never lifting one’s eyes and admiring the sun? Or do eyes of yours see the beauty of sky no more, or do they prefer not to? Like insects you do creep, as strong and powerful ones considering yourself for the time being, and the magnificence and greatness of heavens have no desire to behold.  Oh, if only like birds could you soar freely, no more wings those for stings vile would you trade! Of the joy of birds, singing dawn praise to the sky what do you know? Of the heavenly azure, visible for them, have you any idea, really? Of the beauty of the infinite higher world all you have forgotten already, in excrements of egoism swimming! Why no wish to fly like the birds have you, for no one was stripped of this possibility once, and only the human Soul itself closes Doors those, opened previously. Never it’s possible to express the joy and happiness of sky messengers in mere words!

So behold your ways unjust, and make thy choice fatal, in knowledge of the causes and results staying. And what is your egoism, if not a crime? And what are your self-burned wings, if not your punishment?

15.05.2011

An unofficial appeal to the politicians