Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Her Story….

She was young beautiful and loved by all, she had been there for thousands of years. From the time when man started thinking, perhaps stood up on two legs and started cherishing her. She was the mother, the nurturer, provider, caretaker everything for them. She deserved to be loved. She prospered and evolved into a shining beauty, coveted by all and worshiped for her qualities.

Then came the marauders. The unrelenting, greedy and blood thirsty invaders who wanted nothing but to rape her. And who could defend her but the ones whom she cherished. They fought for her, died for her but could not save her from the barbarians. Hence, the Barbarians settled there for good or for bad only time will tell. But they settled, started calling her their mother too, but who could love her more than the ones she had nurtured and nourished for thousands of years. Only their heart bled at the pain and agony she suffered. The barbarians pretended to be the caretakers, but they still raped her continuously and why not? She was not their mother, she was only a shining beauty to be taken, dressed in gold and jewels but not because she is the mother, but because she is to be shown as the submitter the conquered.

The barbarians in a few hundred years, are not considered barbarians any more but the owners and caretakers. In their hearts the true sons know that it will not be long when the harbingers of mischief break their mother, tear her into pieces and leave no option but bloodshed. Indeed, they were right in their assumption. It was not merely an assumption but was proved as a fact later. She was no longer their mighty mother, she was broken into pieces. Forsaken by the greed of those invaders who never really worshiped her as their own. Nevertheless, she continued to nourish and nurture even the ones who betrayed her. But that was not all, they broke her again and again and again, until she no longer had the strength to bear them any more. Now she lies, heartbroken, in tears bathed in blood, silently watching her children ruin each other. Perhaps she has lost hope, perhaps she has given up. She no longer awaits for them to worship her, what they give she takes with averted eyes, never questioning, never asking, never showing her wrath. Nevertheless there is anger, it becomes evident when she trembles each time. It says a lot to her true sons who have worshiped each and every part of her. They know their mother is suffering and who can tell when this suffering will end. Indeed if it can ever be stopped.

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