A myth is destroyed. The myth of invincibility died in Lunas. They said they are eternal. Now we see they are mortal. They can be defeated. This was not known before. The arrogance comes with less confidence, the claims of future recovery carry less conviction. The crack in the facade is visible, as the ministers duck their heads and comb fingers through their hair.

It is the end of certainty that present immunities and gratuities will continue. The party cannot promise political patronage with persuasion. The threat of disfavor in parliamentary attendance and performance has less the fear it had. Selection for candidature is no longer a sinecure. Party selection is less certain success than an invitation to disgrace and dishonor at the voter's door.

Popular politicians now wonder if the future is not brighter across the fence. The present policy has failed. It will continue to fail. There is that in truth and justice that inspires courage and determination in the young, who are idealistic and have no desire to inherit a world rank with the stench of malice and injustice. They bare their breast against the tirades of the tyrant. And they will prevail.

It is not a matter of race now. Lunas proves that. It is a matter of honesty and ethical standards. Those who continue to support the present scheme cannot justify their vote on any rational basis. All humanity recognizes the necessity for honesty and truth as a foundation for a society that provides security and equity upon which any future world can be built.

The towers and castles have a foundation of favoritism and unfairness that condemns them as cosmetic facades of a Malaysian Bolehwood, doomed to decay as certain as the shaky hand and wrinkled brain that dreamed them, and the avaricious and cruel intent that keeps hot air inside a balloon soon to shrink from disfavour into oblivion.

Lunas is a small voice that whispers, "Now we know it possible, there must be many more." One thinks of Sam Coleridge, who wrote, "In Xanadu did Kublai Khan, a stately pleasure-dome decree ...

[snip]

"And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise." [Kublai Khan]

Percy Shelley wrote,

"I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away." [Ozymandias]

Ahhh ... how the lines capture the arrogance ...

"Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair."

Come now time, and the sands, which deal well with "the sneer of cold command."