A short brave history of my land

Bravery, by far, is, someone said, the kindest word for stupidity and how well is that said, for, when I rethought I rediscovered something similar – if it is bravery and yet has gotten rid of stupidity, it is not what it is, for, bravery is sympathetic and ugly enough to make you believe you are good and that, all for nothing except plenty of mercy from the same omnipotent unknown; so then, I say braves are the ones accoutered with sheer dumb luck, which in turn, is for cowards who have nothing else to do but to expostulate their cowardice except, when, a ‘gallant’ inscription bewitches them and what else, the steep acclivity of pseudo victory is more than just obvious, and more obvious are the poems, the plays, and the tear-at-last speeches for the land reproduced from the history made bravely by the brave mustached kids who, to quote brave historians, “roared” at the cannoned adversaries who could do nothing but cut off their fluid and solid supplies including half of their lives and lands, later on, when our braves shielded their lands with their naked breasts and yet they ‘roared’ at them and rolled the stones down the slope, the wisest thing ever done, so then, my brothers, how brave is our history privileged to possess the braves in their lands and not-to-forget you-know-on-which-row they drained their lives, and so the day is today the consequence of the same is shoved off, not to mention, by their bravery to a land where their bloods run shamelessly, deteriorating the milieu and inviting a disaster repairing which is indeed a nightmare for even the wisest of us.