The Mark, what mark? The mark every soul has to leave in
this world. The mark that identifies someone leaved and flourished here.
How many of us ready to spend even ten minutes out of our
life to see the markings. For thousands of years humans ruled this world.
From the time of Roman empire their legions, barbarians crusaders.
Even before them, India vedic civilization, Egyptian empires, Mayans and
traditions dates older than that.
The amount of accumulation of the knowledge is overwhelming.
Yet, It is painful rather than surprising to see how less and
less we pay attention to them.
If these markings can speak, what they are going tell to us?
Are they going to
tell to us about the great battles they have fought? Or the big palaces they
have created. Or how beautiful the earth was before fossil fuel and cities consumed
it.
It’s always felt to me that the tombs our ancestors are
screaming to us. They are begging to us to stay away from the mistakes they have
done.
Yet, we don’t listen, We Ignores.
History is not a story. It’s a warning, teaching. The one,
who ignores it, cannot have a history of his own. He will be simply repeating
the history itself, yet himself part of the history.
That’s the beauty of it. Isn’t it?
My father died in my early childhood, I am probably six then.
He was a beautiful person. He told me stories of gods, goodness, and kindness.
He shaped me to what I am now. I always wanted to be like him.. I was never like my
mother.
His magic always worked, I never allowed myself to be deviated from the path he has shown me.
His magic always worked, I never allowed myself to be deviated from the path he has shown me.
Two decades passed
after he passed away. I wonder, what he
would have told me if he was alive. Whether
he would be proud of me? I know he will be.
I can still feel him, though my mother, his brothers and
sisters and in the tears they have in their eyes. For me he lives among gods. The
gods whom he had told me stories about!!!
What mark has he left for me? Is it the watch he left or the
rare old coins from his collection? Or the property he has left for me.
The thought was disturbing me for weeks now. Then a moment
of realization!!!
The moment of
realization can be joyful and painful at simultaneously, an emotion that cannot
be expressed by words.
It was too obvious
and the markings can never be missed, it is me. It was always me. I am his legacy.
The continuation!!!
The thought itself puts me in immense pressure. The responsibility it brings can break my
back. It has the power to destroy me with in me.
Destiny cannot be altered. Every human has a purpose in
life, maybe I am destined to do this.
It is the purpose!!!
After all markings won’t fade away that fast. Do they?
