The Mystery

The mystery of man This is the third day after new year and the day equally dark and miserable as they were before the new has number changed. On the Eve of festivity, drunk people thronged narrow streets hoarse voices and screams upsetting dogs and cats. oddly, we celebrate the new year with warlike gestures like fireworks. Most of my friends are dead, yes, we too danced the golden calf, not knowing what life was about I still don’t know. On the third sober day, the same old bombs killing people, as arms dealers drink champagne. Our democracy is for the well to do for us subjugation and waiting for Godot.