As great as they were,
I am too.
You are. We are.
Realisation of truth.
Fore-fathers and great-mothers,
Lives infinite in pages,
parting for us their conquests,
from all historic ages.
Battles of brute, battles of soul.
Stories of warmth and stories of cold.
I see them now,
coming from the corners of every earthly crevesse,
they come in their millions,
where human life is bound perfectly
like the threads of a dress.
He who has devoted, he who has fought.
She who has mothered, she who has taught.
He who had not a roof, not an apple, not a home,
he sang music.
She who had comfort, had books, had health,
she rode horses.
They, who have left us their stories in billions,
their unimaginable challenges to their greatest triumphs,
I can feel them now.
As I meditate through clouds
of metamorphic memories of distant
and current lives alike,
I start to envisage an ocean of quests indicipherable in quantity.
So many things happen,
so many an absurdity.
But that which is the beauty of 'the absurd' ,
is also its curse.
Defining the roads of our lives,
as it plays with our fate.
The notion 'absurd' depicting the occurance of anything can happen to anyone,
regardless of what is on your plate.
Man, woman, adult, child, good, evil, all similar.
Breathing the same air,
Living under the same atmospheric roof,
Even after we are gone,
We are one.