Those people were some kind of a solution.
C.P. Cavafy, Waiting for the Barbarians
Now it seems those grandchildren of ours are riding horses.
We were few when we rode forth on that hard journey;
Now we're called a Great Caravan that left tracks in its wastelands.
The tracks remain out in the wastes, in the valleys and mountain passes, and
There are very many heroes left graveless in the desert.
Do not say graveless: In the tamarisk-reddened wilderness, at
Dawn, in the spring, our graves are covered with rose-blossoms.
Our tracks remain, our dreams remain, everything remains, far away, yet
Even if the wind blows, or the sands shift, they will never be covered, our tracks.
And the caravan will never stop along the way, though our horses are very thin;
One way or another these tracks will be found someday, by our grandchildren;
~Abdurehim Otkur, Tracks