Echoes within the Mud
Beneath the burden of time’s unyielding hand,
They lie in quiet slumber, nonetheless and grand—
Artifacts of ages lengthy since handed,
Whispering tales of a world so huge.
A shard of pottery, its edges worn,
Reveals the arms that formed its type at daybreak.
Every crack, a story of fires fiercely lit,
Of meals as soon as shared, of lives ceaselessly knit.
A scroll unrolled, its ink as darkish as night time,
Unfolds the ideas of students of their mild.
Their phrases endure, although centuries have flown,
A bridge between the traditional and the recognized.
A sword, as soon as wielded in a warrior’s grip,
Now rests in stillness, silent on its journey.
Its blade, although rusted, whispers of the fray,
Of battles fought, of lives misplaced on that day.
A golden amulet, adorned with care,
Speaks of the hopes its wearer selected to bear.
A allure for love, for fortune, or for well being,
A testomony to religion in unseen wealth.
Every artifact, a fraction of the previous,
A thread that ties the current to the huge.
By means of them, we contact the lives of those that got here,
Their joys, their fears, their triumphs, and their disgrace.
Oh, sacred relics, guardians of time,
Your silent voices weave a grander rhyme.
In you, we see the essence of our race,
The human story etched in each hint.
So allow us to cherish what the earth has stored,
The treasures from the depths the place time has slept.
For in these artifacts, we actually discover,
The mirror of the human coronary heart and thoughts.
