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To the old man
It is just a smile
I told my friends
to the old man
selling pulut cakes
a basketful on his head
I want
to reach out my questions,
and have him answer
I do love stories
So,
Is it just a smile now?
I asked my friends,
when I smile to the old man
selling pulut cakes
to have him smile back at me?
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| Nothing wrong with wanting others to smile back--shared smiles are a form of bonding, sharing, safety... With a smile threats vanish and we are accepted for who we are. |
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| great poem. i love writing about human interaction and the encounters we have - what they mean to each of us shapes what tomorrow means. You crafted a great piece about human philosophy here. |
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| when i was a younger person i use to walk by with my friend and scream out names to everyone who i saw...no matter old or young i said your dumb...and now i realized that im older and i was the dumb one...for i appreciate the elder and there wonderful storys they hold...it lets me know that when im older i will have my own storys to tell and i wouldent want some kids screaming at me...but i may look pass those kids, saying i have done it and it shall be going on till they die to...so i say what goes around comes around, karma ey? you have such a talent for feeling and i want to read more of your writtin work |
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Thank you all for the comments, for those whose works I have not checked yet, please bear with me until my exams are finished. I will ASAP get to ALL your wonderful works.
Pulut cakes are glutinous rice, you know the sticky ones.
The poem IS about showing respect and because here in Asia, respect is somewhat overwhelming that it turns into fear. We are afraid to start a conversation with our elders for fear of offending them with our naievity.
Such a loss, eh? |
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This is such a sweet little sentiment. Respect for elders was once a noble trait, but I see it disapating. One of the great flaws of a youth obsessed culture.
RJA |
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