When Little Was Enough

 I turn my gaze to shadows left behind,

Where faded paths through dusty memories wind;

I close my eyes, and time begins to fly

On wings of longing through a softer sky.

No wealth was ours, yet rich in quiet grace,

For love had carved a haven in that place;

We wore our poverty without despair,

And found abundance in the love we shared.

One humble plate sustained a gathered crowd,

Though life was hard, no heart grew cold or proud;

A single garment crossed the passing years,

Worn smooth by sweat, adorned with love and tears.

Beneath the sky, upon a woven mat,

We slept as children of one home and sat;

No one would ask what portion belonged to whom-

One heart had room enough to make us room.

A mango sliced, a gooseberry, salt and spice,

A little made a feast when shared was nice;

A pinch of chili, laughter, hands held near-

And somehow every hunger disappeared.

Though hunger lingered at our humble door,

What once was yours was shared with all once more;

The little that we had became enough,

For love could soften even days grown rough.

With ancient faith and sacred rites to guide,

We walked through changing seasons side by side;

The world was harsh, and life was often plain,

Yet no one carried all their grief alone in pain.

Then came the age of wires, of glass and light,

And quietly the old world slipped from sight;

The distant earth came closer by the screen,

And all the wonders once unknown were seen.

A thousand faces now rest in the palm,

Yet somehow none can bring the old-world calm;

We span the seas to speak across the night,

Yet miss the neighbor standing in our sight.

We crossed the world without a road or train,

Sent voices through the clouds like drops of rain;

Yet in the rush of progress, somewhere near,

We lost the hands that once would draw us near.

Those who once walked with burdens on their backs,

With salt and sweat upon their weary tracks,

Raised kingdoms from the dust with patient hands,

And built their dreams across the waiting lands.

I do not blame the march of time or change,

Nor all the wonders progress put within our range;

The world grew wide, and life learned how to fly-

But something precious quietly passed by.

For once, a neighbor's sorrow crossed our door,

And one man's hunger became hunger for more;

A shared piece of fruit, a garment passed along,

Could turn a little life into a song.

Now every window opens to the world,

Yet fewer doors to human hearts unfurl;

We know the faces scattered far and wide,

But strangers pass like shadows by our side.

Perhaps I miss those days not for their pain,

Nor for the hunger, poverty, or rain;

I miss the warmth that hardship could reveal-

The simple art of knowing what others feel.

So let this homesick heart in yesterday stay,

Not to escape the present or betray;

But to remember, in this restless age,

The human warmth that time cannot erase.

For though the world has come beneath our hand,

And every distance bows to our command,

I still remember when one heart could hear

Another heart-and find a brother near.

And if nostalgia is a fault of mine,

Let it be so; I shall not draw the line.

For in those fading years I still can see

The world we lost-and what we used to be.