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A poem dedicated to the forgotten hearts in Old-age homes! 🙏🏻 They once held our little fingers, And taught us how to walk. Now they sit beside silent windows, With a thousand stories left to talk. They don't ask for much from life, Just a familiar voice, a hand to hold. For loneliness hurts far deeper When the heart feels young, but the body grows old. A photograph rests beside the bed, Of faces they kissed and prayers they said. A telephone rings...their tired eyes shine, Hoping their children have finally found time. They neither complain nor cry, They hide their helplessness behind a smile. A passing car brings a flicker of hope, As fading evenings teach them to cope. Look closely at the wrinkles on their face, Each holds a sacrifice, a story, a trace. Their tired eyes search through the crowd, For one familiar face, one voice aloud. They need no diamonds, no treasures of gold, Just a gentle heart and a hand to hold. Someone to listen as their stories unfold, For hearts grow weary when left in the cold. Give them a little of our summer In the winter of their years, For one day, we'll face that winter too, With our own unspoken fears. Don't you feel for those who once made your world so bright? Then why leave them spending their final years Alone, waiting out of sight? -PoulomiS© (@ako660 Dii and Pari @PariVibes I tried to honour your request and weave my own feelings into it, but I am not sure if I've done justice to what you expected from me) #oldage