Zero hour has struck from this point of view
A chest that leans on an imaginary shadow, a hand that squeezes a humiliated heart, a conscience that mustered its strength against tyranny, and the redness of lips moistened with the salt of tears. Four corners inhabited by four shaky images representing different classes of society. A surgeon, a merchant, a recluse and a stray whose paths contradicted but whose goals converged. Feet dragged to this exposed surface, determined to obtain a visa to leave, a leap without protection, without a bag to pull their limbs to release a parachute to soften the landing, or a rope to lead them to safety! Each leaning on a wall, waiting for the courage to push their bodies towards the abyss.

It is said that pain diminishes and grows into flowers with soft thorns with time. Everything gets better with patience, but what if patience gets tired of the bitterness of patience?! Goodness will fill your heart when you grow strong. What if this branch cracks and erodes with the aggravation of sorrow?