By Alice Gari
As the dawn peaked in the valley, those cracked ankles caught my attention.
At first I didn't understand the context or intention.
As my seldom attention turned frequent with time, I witnessed a vicious game.
Those cracks on ankles were constant bruises with pebbles and stones,
Raised by the flora and fauna with naiveness but courage running in their bones.
Spine bowing to the soil along with that horticulture,
Yet distancing themselves from the soil embracing the shelves of memories that nurture.
With the purest smile of multiple folds they commented, ‘it felt better in our times’.
Within the same time window, little school uniforms had similar rhymes.
While that smile reminisced memories, the little student said to her mates ‘ it's going to be better in our time’.
Constant flood of curiosity kept me engaged,
On the contrary, some in well fit uniforms with firm smiles feel that they're estranged.
Strangled with recollections, good fits also strangle.
Moments channeling the purpose of intellects born under different stars and stages.
Yet chronology defeats all the pages.
The giant bucket from the old man’s shoulder spilled and scattered with the coriander leaves on that soil.
He just laughed it off saying ‘it felt better in our times'.