We have forgotten why we are free
Social media frames have become popular again (I thought it was a fashion of the past): remember why we are free! Watching the battle between pictures and frames is déjà vu - the same words are repeated again and again like a prayer, words that no longer mean anything to many. Memories of events that will never happen again. The smell of smoke, the cold and the hunger for freedom. People rallied for Independence because it was the only right choice for those days, the only future projected onto it was liberation from the lies of the Soviet occupation.
The euphoria always ends with a plunge into reality, from heaven to earth or even deeper, which makes you want to get dizzy again, but nothing can ever replace the first time.
Hangovers are always hard, it always seems that it was the best night, the best year, the best life in a place you can't go back to, and the labyrinths of memory are coloured by books written by others that tell stories only from that narrow, personal view. It is all sinking into the mists of oblivion, but we keep repeating - I remember.
We have stopped looking at the stars, we have stopped appreciating silence, we are unable to look at tomorrow. Everything in our lives happens today. The morning news is out of date by the evening and the truth is lost in the stream of news. Everything is changing at breakneck speed. Here for Ukraine, and then turn around for Palestine, without any thought as to who is behind what.
We are angry about nothing and we are lying to ourselves, because we cannot admit that we care less and less about the war in Ukraine. We turn the pages, the lamentations and the faces - it is not our problem.
As the days go by, we drink our cup of vanity, murmuring from time to time: what scoundrels they all are - they can do it, but they don't! We would do something, we tell ourselves, but we soon change our minds and buy something tasty because we are just tired of everything.
„Let's have bonfires!“ scream the farmers, who have nothing to do in the winter because there is not enough snow to plough, which they would be happy to clear with the help of the budget compensation.
„We're not in the Caribbean!“, says the MEP. Until spring. It is important not to see reality, although the shadows of the Kremlin are no longer a mirage, but a distinct stench.
A poet and a cat are killed. Far over the horizon, where it rains phosphorus rain, where a bonfire is no entertainment.
𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐲𝐦 𝐊𝐫𝐲𝐯𝐜𝐨𝐯
(1990 01 22 - 2024 01 07)
snow covers the traces of the park's memory
in front of observation openings
scary to look at
but you don't take your eyes off me
and you see their armies advancing
through meanings and ruins
again
they go round and round
for the last century
and the band alone turns yellow
waiting for the time
to replace the old sun
shall we go with them?///
Translated by Benediktas Januševičius
