Revolution

The old man looked at the beaming face of his grandson and sighed.

‘You still think it is wrong for us to protest. But how long can we tolerate this corrupt, tyrannical regime. This President has even stopped holding the elections. We will not rest till we throw him out of power,’ the boy almost shouted in anger.

‘And who will take his place?’ asked the old man in a melancholy tone.

‘Our leaders have already thought of everything. Don’t you worry; wise and honest people will run the state. And we have enough of them in our party.’

The old man looked at the boy and recalled the days when he too had gone protesting against the corrupt and tyrannical regime that ruled the country about forty years ago. They had all been inspired by a young idealist who was bubbling with new ideas; whose passion for change was highly contagious; who had provoked thousands of students to come out on streets and not to rest till they had thrown out the tyrant who ruled the country.

They had succeeded. That young idealist had come to power and had ruled the country for twenty years and then had bequeathed the power to his only son.

Today his grandson had risen against the tyrannical regime of the only son of that young idealist.

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A post for Sunday PhotoFiction on a photo prompt.