Was Cradled With History and Its Mystries

Here was a challenge of how much we  know about our history.

Going back in my memory to fill in my poem’s lines.

I recall of being cradled in my grandma’s laps.

Sitting in her  white base, red bordered sari.

She would open up her the chest of her stories.

Narrating one each day, to put me off to sleep.

They were the stories of the Rajas and Maharajas.

Their humongous castles, and stories of their braveries.

Amongst them were Chandragupt Maurya, and the Great Ashoka.

Great kings of their times, she would say.

The Gatha of their preaching she would narrate it all to me.

With my amazed eyes I would gaze like x-rays, piercing through her thick glass.

To absorb in my mind, the emphasis of her lines.

Lines or Ramayana she would read out to me.

Explaining Rama’s Vanvas and Sita’s  devotion to her husband, unconditionally.

Mahabharata’ s politics and Lord Krishna’s Yudh with his Kans mama.

The Jataka’s tales, the mysterious princesses and animals in it.

These are the stories I grew up with.

With every word and essence of every line hammered into my lasting memory.

By my grandma cradling me and humming these words of wisdom and great history to me.

This is how I came to know the rich culture and stories of my Country.

The one which is well known for its rich Mythological dignity.

In my memories are the days of my social science classes.

It not only taught me about my mother lands history,

Even I was taught of the great civilizations which were such a mystery.

They were not just simply text to me but the words were like sharp spear of enlightenment to me.

Enlighten of their great technical mystery, pyramids of Giza, garden of Babylon and Harappa’s civilization.

This whole churning of childhood stories and text in the books.

Brought me to the brim of my anxiety.

Which eventually lead me to a whole trip round the world.

Few were just readings and few were my visitings.

To the pyramids of Giza, their myriad beauty.

Amazed I was to see the humongous technical advancement, then.

Which is still a mystery, to all and as well as to me.

Thousands of years buried under the sand, protected by the time it seems.

They stood out so beautiful and so richly inscripted with their history.

With rich blocks of alabaster they were made of, shining bright to dignify its glory.

There was my trip to the land of the Great Alexander, Alexandria it was called.

With the catacombs hiding the graves of great men, lavish Greek culture, still a mystery.

This history along with its mysteries, are a never ending course to my delight.

The urge to know more I have. As there are yet voids of history that still left in me.

The myriads of its beauty and richness are what infold me in its grips.

The HISTORY along with its MYSTERIES.






This poem has been shared with 'Jingle Poetry' .