Such is the painful lesson is war, that in life those that lay lead dead on the battlefield could not see the bond in one another and killed each other. Sharing the same womb of the earth in extinction as brothers share the same womb from they took existence. Made to be brothers in death simply because they could not see the brotherhood they shared in life.
Just as a child clings to his parent, it, in fear of the night that dare engulf it, so to will our democracy will cling to education and the educated against the encroaching darkness of hate. For it is the open door of a school that leads to open door of the polling booth. It is imperative that we understand that by empowering the parent, we empower the child.
The most painful, the only real death, is not the one where you are buried by others rather, its when a man buries himself because of others.
Throughout human history there is there was an element of untouchability that we applied to our fellow human beings, the belief that certain people were beneath others the fact their mere touch would be polluting. Such a system existed in India through caste, in japan as Burakumin, and often was culturally socially and religiously enforced. While this system was wrong, that is not to say untouchables do not exist. The true untouchable is not born as such, nor made to be. The true untouchable pollutes not with his body but with his mind his surroundings, he who chooses to divide our beautiful humanity, defiles the ideologies of unity to ones of division. The true untouchable is a product of choice, for he who is the one who chooses to hate.
In my culture when a person is dead they are burned, that how it is, that how it should be. Yet in forgetting forgiveness, in holding on to their hate, their anger so many come to lie in their funeral pyres long before their time. Flames recognizing neither the dead nor alive consume a man all the same. It is up to a man how he wants to meets that fire, at peace and at rest or in a state of turmoil and alive.
Truth of it is that we don’t lose our loved ones when they do take their leave from us. Love if it is real, is never about possession and one cannot lose what is not owned, rather it is we have lost a part of ourselves to them.
In studying history one gains the ability to live many lives while only having to die once.
Men have always died. In dying they take nothing, so it was a man gives, what he leaves behind that defines him, each man building upon his predecessors legacy. Long forgotten ancestors left us an identity, a name. In taking a name Forefathers pass on lands and property.the men of this era are no different. In being given wealth and lands they ought to aspire and build, leave behind a world, a better one.
If they raise buildings and statues in his memory, a man is deemed great. A far greater act however that honours a man’s legacy, is not the raising of buildings or statues, but often overlooked is instead it is the raising of beings, children who are bestowed with his name. A living legacy, raised properly their good thoughts and actions not only serve to honour his memory but add to it as well, unlike arts and architecture who merely testify to it.
In living a man can only die once. In loving however, the same cannot be said.