Dr. Kebba S. Bojang
This is a poem for the young,
And of time and its imprints:
The passing of sands of life.
The old were not born aged,
They too were once young;
Full of zest for life, blossoming
And in their primes.
They had their moments,
They wanted to live them forever.
But life is a journey travelled in time
Through seasons and generations,
Each defined by its own distinctiveness.
Every generation has its calling,
The old have answered to theirs.
Every generation has its fashion trend,
The old have paraded and showcased theirs.
Every generation has its music,
The old have sung and danced to theirs.
Every generation has its cuisine,
The old have relished and savored theirs.
Every generation has its swagger,
The old have pranced and strutted theirs.
Exuberances of the good old days,
Days of yore they will forever long for.
But time is a great leveler and makes
The strongest, weak; the bravest, timid;
The fiercest, calm; the loudest, quiet;
The skillful, clumsy; the fastest, slow.
They may be out of touch for you, the old,
But they are in harmony with time.
And just like them, you too shall be old,
For that is the natural order.