The men sit and discuss politics. Chests puffed out. Bellies protruding and sagging dangerously low, just held up by tattered leather belts. So many opinions. Visual autopsies. A judgmental audience to the proceedings before us. The state of affairs in our country. Occasionally sipping on the fermented delights that are supplied in steady supply by their lovely counterparts as they watch the fire blaze until it dwindles into glowing embers. Voices bellowing and bouncing off into the night sky. Competing for a space in the testosterone induced melody of meaningless manhood. Why are we not encouraging each other and mentoring each other through the difficult and slippery slopes of life? Why isn't age advising naivety? The fray.
Women bustle around subserviently. Plying the men with drinks. Busying themselves over smoking and bubbling pots. Have the men been fed? Is their thirst quenched? Who is stoking their fire? Jubilant children bouncing forward to share with exuberance the discovery of an oddly shaped stick ( could it be a magical wand mummy? ) only to be swatted away in frustration. So many tasks , so little time. Unconstructive notes are shared through the haze of stinging smoke. Conclusions are drawn. Bitterness deepens. Why are we not empowering one another instead of deepening each others' insecurities? The fray.
Rejected. The children watch from a distance. Too young to hear the men's tales of conquest or to be entertained or appreciated by them. Unwanted in the hot kitchens where they disturb and could overhear ' big peoples talk'... they stand and watch. Sponges. Soaking it all up. Trying to figure how much of what they observe they should eventually pass on. What is the legacy to be passed on? Who do they take their cues from? What is the ' right' way to be or aspire to? The fray.
No comments:
Post a Comment