With old, weary eyes she watches the rusted gates.
She is old. She will not live forever. She wonders if anyone
of them will visit today.
They have left the nest, all of them. They have gone to
start their own families, chase their own dreams. They have left her.
The rusted gates swing ever so softly; and her heart skips a
beat, ever so slightly.
But it was a passing breeze, nothing else. The only one to
visit today, the breeze gusts through her white hair, caresses her wrinkled
skin, stings those weary old eyes.
“Diorang takkan datang
harini…semua sibuk kerja”
Said the gruff voice of her husband from the nearby rocking
chair, from behind a newspaper held by pained, arthritic fingers.
He puts up a brave face, but she knows he hurts as much as
she does.
Slowly, but hopefully, she turns back to those old rusted
gates.
Maybe, just maybe, one of them will visit; a kiss from a
child now grown up, a carefree cry of a young grandchild to break the monotony
of days spent alone. Maybe, just maybe, today will be different from days past
and the diminishing days to come. Maybe, just maybe, today she will be happy.
So with old, weary eyes she watches the rusted gates.
