FLASH
Shkruar nga PamfletiFrom the courtyard to the open sky; The Icarus of Greek methodology who didn't understand that the wings weren't theirs...
There is a new category of "statesmen" that you won't find in history books or mafia movies. They are the new creatures of modern power: the untouchables, those who walk in front of the cameras with a prime ministerial escort and tender dossiers in hand, while behind them pulls a caravan of bags of tender money, drug trafficking, hostage-taking, murder and criminal bites against any soul that dares not bow down.
These chameleons of the government corridors, today they are all visionary businessmen, tomorrow cybersecurity engineers, the day after tomorrow shadowy bodyguards of power, and at night... that night when we cannot see them, they transform into the shadows of crime that try to hide behind the rose-colored fence of the prime minister's office.
They boast that they are close to the sun of power, but they do not understand that the wings that the big boss has attached to them are made of wax. And we all know the end of Icarus...
(This episode is part of the myth of Daedalus and Icarus. This is an ancient Greek myth and is mentioned in the works of Hesiod and Ovid. Daedalus builds wings so that he and his son Icarus can escape from Crete. Icarus does not respect the restriction imposed by his father, climbs too close to the sun and dies after his wings melt.)
They have no ideas, no profession, no history of success. They only have the ability to kiss the hand that feeds them and bite anyone their boss points at. That's where their career begins and ends. An entire life built on serving a single man: the leader of evil. They don't get rich because they are valuable; they get rich because they are needed for jobs that no normal person can do. And when they fall, they don't fall from justice; they fall from a boss who no longer needs them. Because these people have no values, no trust, no identity. They are simply the tools of a regime that, when broken, are thrown in the trash. And the most tragic thing is that they know this very well, so they steal as much as they can, as quickly as they can, as long as the bridge hasn't burned yet.
People without morals, without direction, without identity, who only want to be someone, even if to do so they have to be nobody.
They are servants of the ideal: that the boss never be troubled by the law and those who oppose him. For this, they are ready to eliminate even the most errant businessman, to stab even the friend who opened the door for them yesterday, to dig graves to bury those who tomorrow they call "brothers."
But fate is vengeful.
Three years king,
all his life a hostage.
Hostage of the government, hostage of the traffickers who trusted him, hostage of the mafia that invested in him...
Today they boast as "the strong sons of the state", tomorrow they turn into files with red clips, and the day after tomorrow; into an urban legend that is told in low voices in cafes:
"Did you hear that? He was untouchable to us... until they sold him."
History does not remember them by name, because they never had a name of their own. They have only been given the no name of a servant, the label of a watchdog of corruption, who barks for the boss and bites the people.
They have always known that they are not statesmen, but food for the lava of power. That burns and throws away every worm that thinks it is a dragon.
In the end, all that remains of them is a list of seized tenders, a few hidden cameras, and a ridiculous escape behind the mirror of false fame.
Because that's what it's like when you live for others...
and die for yourself... /Pamphlet
Jane shume te tylle. Ata po e shqyejne sot Shqiperine.
Lali eri qe mbron pamfleti, eshte shembulli me i vertete per llojin e krimbave qe behen dragonj dhe djegin veten