Buried in the Folds of Time

No more guys and girls happily driving open-air convertible cars on weekends, sweet winds swaying, fighting, and playing their loose hairs. No more children walking on the streets to school, carrying notebooks in their arms, not in backpacks, not on buses. No more young boys playing marbles in holes they had dug on vacant lots near home, their mates flying kites heavens above. No more family sitting on the front porch after dinner, sharing the latest neighborhood news. No more walking in the fields by night, under tender and puissant moonlight. No more people greeting each other and sending good vibes, even if they were unknown. No more fresh milk bottles delivered home by the morning, but milk boxes at immense supermarkets, with sleepless cameras furtively watching over us. No more letters, no business letters, no love letters, only emails to be lost in cyberspace. No more couples who face the difficulties of everyday life, profess mutual and sincere forgiveness, respect the common oath once made, so engendering true and honest love. No more parents, sons, and daughters going out together at night, carrying in common dreams, dramas, and desires, like a pack of wolves not learned to segregate. No more growing, assembling, and sharing rooms and lives, our children becoming children of all of us.