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Centuries have rolled, The generations don’t connect anymore. They grow as trees in isolation And don’t make a garden anymore. They are stories divided in incongruent chapters But don’t make a readable book anymore For I don’t understand your language Nor do you mine. If my times could be closer to yours And yours to mine We can bring the generations drifting nowhere A bit nearer. We can build a bridge together. You can cross the bridge And come to my times in my heart The times when the values were valued, Come to my old village I adored The village where people had soul. I will show you my house The bare walls collapsing and the doors cracking But standing strong on foundation, the faith I will show you my garden The flowers drying and the trees dying But they preserve the essence of good times. I will show you the grey picture of my little daughter Holding my hand She remembers no longer. I will show you the mirror hiding my face Beaming in happiness out of measure I have left with my times to treasure. I can cross the bridge And travel to your times you are shaping The times when you value people by money To your modern city that wiped the villages, The city where people have lost their soul. You will show me your house The walls decorated with abstract paintings But the windows don’t see the sky. You will show me the garden People rushing to pluck odorless flowers But the garden path is all stairs people climb and climb, You will show me the picture of your little son in color Holding your sleeve Not knowing who you really are. You will show me your iPad Storing your face smiling in rue At the uncertain times you gave you. Let us build a bridge together And on the bridge I will take a step forward You will take a step backward. I will hold your hand with love You will hold mine with care. And let the times meet And the generations connect. Written : July 12, 2017 March 25, 2020 Contest : Strand Choice Q, Any Form, Any Theme Sponsor : Brian Strand
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