Once a home, now a ruin, a heap of sticks, a heap of stones. The paint peeling, the shutters creaking, the glass shattered, the doors shut, never to open again. Walking by I thought I heard it say, won’t you stop a moment, a story I have to tell.
Do you know those who once lived here? My face sagging my eyes straining, I wait for them to return. Coloured bright yellow with a pink trim, I once was much admired, the pride of my new owners. a small family I cherished.
They stood in front, the very lfirst day, the parents and the children, a handsome young boy, a sweet little girl and a small child. Prayers were offered to grace the occasion of the housewarming, with a small gathering of friends, to celebrate.. Oh what a day it was. a day to remember as I stood in all my glory.
Soon there was a small garden. planted with loving care . Emerald green grass out front, the back yard filled with fruits and vegetables. Palm trees growing tall, stood as mighty sentinels and when the wind blew strong, they bent down low to whisper to each other.
Laughter and light adorned this home, festivities there were many. A warm and welcome haven to those who sought its sanctuary. Children playing and cavorting, their pets, a cat that walked in, a squirrel they rescued and an abandoned rabbit.
The mother calling out when dinner was ready, the father returning home to enjoy a warm meal. After a short trip to church on Sundays, everyone stayed at home. Lazy afternoons with family and friends, time spent together in joyful moments . ‘Twas with great pleasure I enjoyed, being the dwelling of this little family.
Time went by, the children grew. I watched their progress, their success, their hardships, which they vanquished together. But one day when my guard was down, the evil forces walked in through a crack in the door, wreaking havoc in my home. Striking first with sickness and tragedy, then with discord and division, setting in motion events that could never be reversed.
I watched helplessly as they fought and struggled. Caring not anymore, they rejected me. Casting away my old creaking frame, they divided the land amongst themselves. The trees they cut down, the grass they trampled on and left me in ruin, to face the wrecking ball .
Was it my lack of vigilance, my moment of weakness that allowed dissension, entry into my once serene home ? With me I will carry, the joy of toils, the tears of pain, the dreams and aspirations, of those I once sheltered. The sorrow of disappointment, the echo of harsh words, the secrets that can never to be shared, seared into these old stones, I will take to my grave .
Listening to the story watching the tear drops fall, I saw not just an old house, not a ruin, but the spirit of a home, the warmth of love. I saw the doorway decorated with brightly coloured festoon for celebrations. I saw it dressed in black, through the throes of tragedy, I saw a lifetime flashing by, an era gone and my heart was filled with sadness for this another dream that would soon turn to dust .
Where once stood a home with a burning hearth, with the sweet aroma of cooking, with lilting conversations around a dining table, will now stand, a tall structure of steel and glass. A soulless space of many units. each with a microwave and modern gadgets, a breakfast nook and bar stools. TV dinners eaten alone, accompanied by strident voices from the many screens that are watched. Where once there lived five, now will live fifty, each lonelier than the other.
Oh what we do in the name of development , what we do to improve our lifestyle ? When will we stop falling prey to greed, when will we stop walking the path of destruction ? When will we keep our trees alive, when will we save our earth from caving in ?
Mary Jacob 