I stood at a side, away from the crowds,
Waiting for a friend, and watched the people pass by.
Have you observed a large multitude of people walking past?
There are those who weave in and out of the human traffic, speeding towards their destination, then there are those who casually stroll around, like they've got all the time in the world. And these are just the unaccompanied ones.
Then there are the families, who believe that since they're the basic unit of society, they have every right to do as they please, from letting their children roam about, to speaking loudly and reproaching others audibly.
After which, comes the couples, be they young or old. They're respectful, despite being in a world of their own. They invade the privacy of others only when they need to, and they do it as quick as possible before retreating to their private sanctuary, shared only by the two of them.
But that's not the point. See, each of them have a story, waiting to be told.
I see it in some of their eyes at times. A story waiting to be told; of mountains conquered, of valleys crossed; of rivers swam; of heartaches recovered.
And who would tell their stories?
Through poetry or prose
Or a painting of a rose
Through music, a universal language
Through eloquence that it may teach
Lessons in life
To persevere and not be disheartened
To live right that our lives might be lengthened
To Tell, to teach
and practice what we preach
To love and obey
For there's no other way.
