emigration [Theme]

Where to humiliate myself is the same.

Verse Longing

When you leave your country, from Russia, from your homeland, you lose a lot. The list is long. But what is especially important is that you are deprived of the moral right to talk about the events taking place in your homeland here and now. About the events of history - perhaps. But about the present - no. Pathetic and worthy of contempt are those who, sitting far from fatal events, arrogantly discuss them from cozy sofas - “but the attack should have been done in a completely different way...”, “but the war should have been fought in a completely different way...” This is my rule, of course, I apply it to myself, otherwise he’s worthless. Many people have the right to talk and talk about the great and terrible war for the reunification of Russian lands - from those who are now at the front - who are storming Avdeevka, defending Gorlovka or repelling attacks on Belgorod - and to those who are on their heads even in the deep rear, like Nizhny Novgorod or Tsaritsyn, an enemy drone may arrive. But those who left - no, they do not have this right. Until they return.

The performance may be better or worse, but it still takes away from the negativity. And there are a lot of irritants around. We are sometimes deceived into thinking that all this negativity bypasses us. These irritants remain in us and gradually gather into a lump, which can, to put it mildly, ruin our mood for a long time.

Being in exile is difficult. People feel abandoned, they feel a lack of understanding, they feel bewildered and alone.

That I will learn to be a bird.

In the meantime, I'm in the south."

- Well, what else is left for a decent person?

We expelled these people because there was no reason to shoot them, and there was no way to endure them.

Gray-haired bankers fled with their wives, talented businessmen fled, leaving trusted assistants in Moscow, who were instructed not to lose touch with the new world that was emerging in the Moscow kingdom, homeowners who left their homes for loyal secret clerks, industrialists, merchants, lawyers, public figures . Journalists fled, Moscow and St. Petersburg, corrupt, greedy, cowardly. Kokotki. Honest ladies from aristocratic families. Their tender daughters, Petersburg pale harlots with painted carmine lips. Secretaries of directors of departments ran, young passive pederasts. Princes and altynniks, poets and usurers, gendarmes and actresses of the imperial theaters fled. All this mass, seeping into the gap, kept its way ...

Sometimes it seems involuntarily that emigration is a kind of habit, a kind of obligation that simply has to be fulfilled - no, economic circumstances make it truly necessary.

The history of mankind is the history of eternal migrations and emigrations. And the twentieth century is a real champion in this.

- Oh, come on, my dear, stop it. A lousy emigrant! It all goes unnoticed. Today - a representative of a great nation, and tomorrow - slag, a mirage, a husk of history.

They, of course, betrayed the country. But I'm afraid they don't get it. In order to betray something, you need to be true to it and love it. You can't betray what you don't love. They never liked this country. She was "this country" for them. They always hated her for being hated there. Because they will always be second rate there.