See how efficient it still is, how it keeps itself in shape— our century's hatred. How easily it vaults the tallest obstacles. How rapidly it pounces, tracks us down.
It's not like other feelings. At once both older and younger. It gives birth itself to the reasons that give it life. When it sleeps, it's never eternal rest. And sleeplessness won't sap its strength; it feeds it.
One religion or another - whatever gets it ready, in position. One fatherland or another - whatever helps it get a running start. Justice also works well at the outset until hate gets its own momentum going. Hatred. Hatred. Its face twisted in a grimace of erotic ecstasy…
Hatred is a master of contrast- between explosions and dead quiet, red blood and white snow. Above all, it never tires of its leitmotif - the impeccable executioner towering over its soiled victim.
It's always ready for new challenges. If it has to wait awhile, it will. They say it's blind. Blind? It has a sniper's keen sight and gazes unflinchingly at the future as only it can.