Not sure how far we came along!
It’s your path.
We walk apart.
But I met your shadow on the way.
Can I hold hands with your shadow?
And carouse it?
Or dissolve in the charisma of its eye?
Can I dance with your shadow?
And share the bed and blanket?
And share my brawn and sweat?
Can I own your shadow?
Bearing (my foot) the pain of the path we walk,
I gasp, agape.
As the narrow door to life
Slips away,
I feel tired
And locked to you!
The marks are getting thicker and longer,
The marks that remind me of my honour.
Like leeches, they linger—
draining me dry!
These marks are not helter-skelter.
They came from my bloodline—
the line of heredity passed on.
They carry the pride—
the name and fame passed on.
The marks cut deeper and deeper—
Etching into generations’ hearts,
wailing of the lineage!
The marks burn in the dark—
ghosts of my ancestry whisper.
But here I am,
The one who made no history,
I have yet to reach my destiny.
I am so ordinary—bearing no pride.
The marks are getting heavier and heavier.
I can barely walk on this trail.
The legacy is pricking,
like thorns in the desert—
hurting my skin
but not shedding blood—
shallow they are.
Ancestors ceased gazing from the high sky,
seeking me to give ground to their walks.
The marks eventually commenced to vanish.
I stand alone, fading with time.