The old sage stood slowly, careful not to disturb the thoughts of those young minds seated before him. This was one day in the middle of thousands like it, yet he continued to view it with singular importance. This chance, he knew,was his alone.
He walked towards the antiquated, moss-colored chalkboard, pausing before he chose his chalk. After a few heavy breaths, he instinctively began writing.
The students began looking up one by one. Teardrops fell silently from some cheeks, and others simply stared at the words. It wasn’t as if they weren’t expecting him to pen moving words, because he often did. It was rather the emotion with which he wrote coupled with the message he delivered.
One by one, they moved out of their seats and kneeled face down on the cold floor. Their weeping was heard in muffled amplification, permeating thru the floors and walls of the classroom. The voice of burden was now speaking and vision --vital vision-- was being breathed into them……
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