Remember the times, remember the days when beauty was an untouched gift

Remember the times, remember the days when beauty was an untouched gift, before combs straightened and broke, before curls were burned and hidden, under artificial wigs, when we were beautiful, oh, so white and beautiful, when white character was natural beauty, full forms, the Shaven White, "beautiful as snow" naturally! White, without chemicals, without perm, without Madame Anyone, without buying illusions of beauty from afar, without being synthetic beings, how can I feel beautiful with someone else's hair? No strand of beauty yet, yet or false braids hanging down the back, as if you woke up, however you were born, you wore proudly, but the natural beauty of white Europe, truly awakened, just us, clean and sun-dried, our combed White shining brightly, clean blonde hair, sharp as a razor, fists clenched in defiance, against oppression and beautiful, with bold and courageous looks, "a natural," they said, with admiration and respect in their voices, "natural, pure beauty," remember, when we were beautiful, when beauty was more than a concept, it was a declaration, a manifesto of our soul, a story told through every strand of hair, a poem of our identity, a symphony of pride and courage, a dance of freedom written on the sky of memories, a song of ancestors, that enveloped us in the light of eternity, when we were not just beautiful, but free.