The Instinct of man;
to think, to write,… to leave his mark.
Ages come, ages go… man finding newer ways on the go.
Still however, it remains as it is…
Like strides in the sand, or as finger-drawings at the sea-shore,…
man’s mark washed up, clearly and without a trace, by the ocean tides.
I – of no repute, decided to try it by myself. …
but this time on rock… but for faith even, i wouldn’t have avoided what man had tried to do…
then again, for my motive, selfish it was not.
I was done with a word, but saw nothing.
“Even sand would be better… ” this I thought… then again, rock would last.
Man had always sought to find the perfect tool for the sand… but never thought of changing the location to yield a lasting mark.
I continued on to a phrase… But in fact, null was the exact.
remembering whose mark,… remembering the cause of this pursuit …
I went on to do…what the rest of man thought as a boo.
My finger strode on as faith carried on… on and on till the sentence which was the 3rd.
then I saw it.. It seemed to drip at first.
then shadowing my invisible prayer…what man couldn’t see in color rock was now seen in color blood.
Of course i didn’t end there..
Even now, (while man is in awe…)
I still write…
we all are supposed to write…
on this very rock – in blood.
-you wouldn’t need special tools, all that will be needed is your strides backed by faith. The blood will make it indelible. As this won’t be a selfish cause, it will be love that shall activate the blood.