viernes, 29 de abril de 2011

He wanted to change the world...

And indeed his changed his time. He studied, he grew, he improved. He was a genius as one could be. He moved the minds forward, he denounced the politics, he wrote with blood and ink, and finally everybody heard him. He renewed the arts and opened new paths. He broke into the current elites; he was well known and influential. But, as he had to change the world, he needed more! Thus, he loaded himself with the weight of all the bad deeds, getting all the mud in his own hands, not allowing others to grasp it or load it. With that influence he make real good. He was the only one suffering with his own sin, in a world of happiness he himself did.

One day he died, and he was glad. He was utterly tired. And he could see the world had changed because of him, a whole new era of peace and justice. From that moment on, he was to be  remembered in the books of history and the songs of the bards and the minstrels as the ideologist, statesman and leading artist of the coming centuries.

Yet eons passed, and the world changed once and again, and then again, thousands of times, as men kept being human. Eons passed, and all he had done was investigated like a rare piece of archeology by the same humans he once knew, happy and miserable, altruistic and unfair, both rich and poor people, elevate minds and crawlers.

And as he looked down in despair, one single question was asked to him, in the ultimate moment of his existence:  
what did you do with your own life?