Letter to my friend - 3

How are you, dear village, my golden cradle? Your children are growing, as strong as they’re able. Are the elders still well, sharing wisdom and care, Always speaking of home, the land that we share? Oh, the elders, they guide with a look, wise and stern, They’ll call out the leaders, make sure they discern. Are my mothers still thriving, with kindness so clear, In buttermilk’s richness, their blessings appear? My mother’s pure dairy, a source of our grace, Uniting the people, in this cherished place. That harmony’s woven deep into my veins, Giving me strength that forever remains. Are my brothers still joyful, with laughter and cheer, And the sisters beside them, their spirits so near? Are my kin, my dear family, thriving and bright, Each neighbor a treasure, a glimmering light? At ninety anniversary I penned this, my tribute, my song, A dream of my youth, where my heart feels so strong. Forgive me, dear friend, for not coming this way, I promise I coming to you next time anyway. Is it time for new journeys, a different school, In a world so distinct, with its own set of rules? The dorm by the school has been turned into a hall, A museum of memories, cherished by all. With faces all smiling, like flowers in bloom, Children enter the space, filling it with their room. With voices in chorus, greeting with glee, It’s clear they’ve been waiting, it’s joyful to see. As I witness this scene, my heart fills with grace, Nostalgia for school days, the warmth of this place. We’ve grown old with the seasons, that much is true, But those days won’t return, yet memories renew. Like a film in my mind, the frames quickly pass, Each moment a treasure, each laugh like fine glass. From your faces, I glimpse, as if we’re intertwined, Each one a familiar, in my heart’s gentle bind. I proclaim, “My village, my cradle of gold,” I want to lift your spirit, let your story be told. With wisdom’s ascent, all grievances cease, The burdens of heartache dissolve into peace. I’ve written this letter, your name in my heart, Next time I will visit, it’s a brand new start. I share my existence, in verses I weave, May the village remember, as I too believe.