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.
