rusted gates

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.