Not Even

We sit like this, each with his face, his thoughts, his habits,
we sit like this in not so perfect a circle,
each with his face, his thoughts, his habits.
Time hasn’t been too unkind on us, my brothers, sister and I,
and though we overlook its treads and marks on our parents faces,
time hasn’t been too unkind,
we have reaped in the wives and husbands, the new jobs, the children to carry on the family name,
time hasn’t been too unkind,
though we try to overlook the marks of age on our parents faces,
where the crows feet had only marked their eyes now has its long strides across their cheeks as if tears, across their foreheads turned into silver to change the color of their hair,
time hasn’t been too unkind,
we sit like this, each with his face, his thoughts, his habits,
and although we’ve heard babas stories a thousand times we still nod and smile as if hearing it for the first time,
and we take heed,
take heed and remember for time never slows,
not even for those that you love the most,
he tells his stories for the thousandth time and we nod and smile,
soak it all and try to remember,
time slows for no one,
not even our parents,
but time hasn’t been too unkind,
what with grandchildren by their feet as they play and cause a ruckus, as sister-in-laws make the evening shai , husbands at the table playing a game of whist while having a political discussion of all that is so wrong,
time hasn’t been too unkind,
lighting up the projector and dusting the old slides, cleaning the VHS tapes and bringing the old t.v. from the basement,
watch history on the living rooms walls,
watch history on the dusty tv screen,
its been ten, twenty, thirty, forty odd years,
look at how green it all used to be,
look at how simple it used to be,
look at how pure it used to be,
look at how beautiful it used to be,
look at how we all used to be,
Faces long past, homes long abandoned, places long changed, family ties long broken, happy memories long forgotten,
pain never forgotten,
we watch history on the living rooms walls,
watch history on the dusty tv screen,
its been ten, twenty, thirty, forty odd years,
look how it all used to be,
and before the gloom of the past settles as sadness, baba turns on the old songs and we dance,
dance with mama as if it were only the two of them,
as if it were baba playing the tar for mamas ears only,
dance as if she danced alone on Halfas banks with a full moon,
dance as if Halfa had arisen from its watery depths,
dance as if our family home still stands in all its simple glory,
dance as if our family was never broken,
dance because time hasn’t been too unkind,
dance because time slows for no one,

not even our parents

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