grasses in the sea

My grandmother showed me ancient pottery shards from Keeladi, each mark a whispered secret. The Tamil Brahmi script curved like seagrass bending beneath waves, carrying stories millennia old. She'd smile, saying our ancestors wrote their dreams into clay. Now I work digitally, earning crypto daily, building something new. Yet I feel connected to those forgotten artisans whose names vanished into ocean spray. Their legacy flows through my fingers, through screens and code. We're all grasses in the sea, I realized, swaying together across generations. Each generation tends what came before, creates what comes next. Our heritage becomes our future.