our old ones...
They are children who have gone further because they left early
Tireless servants, full of stories, inexhaustible
Many live happily, feeling that
others are loved; on the contrary, they feel abandoned
precisely by those to whom they gave their lives.
Those who were Parents one day, today become our children
With tired and often fragmented memory
For base years and support, along the winding road
Never absent, always present
In recurring moments.
Hands full of passion
for honest work, done with the heart
capable of transforming
from becoming a song
and dancing among us
with their eyes full of emotion.
Our elders are walking wisdom
, although their memory is not that of an elephant
. Their walk, one day upright,
the burden of experience has almost disappeared, sometimes it weighs more than what was wanted.
I see with great sadness and with a certain indignation
that the old are separated, just like that, without reason or ton
. They look at them with indifference, that they are subjected to humiliation,
that those who are next to them do not pay attention to them.
Our old people dream that they live, in many of their memories.
Many prefer to stay in one of their stories.
Perhaps it is because that way they feel that the bad is not enough for them,
that sweet hope dwells in their young memories.
There are many who live believing in eternal youth
, many who still don't realize that time passes, it doesn't wait.
They believe that they need no one, nor that they will need them.
But I tell you a secret, as you look at them, they will look at you.
