Return The Mite Box

When did it become a crime to grow old?
Accommodating the old is supposed to be a venerable tradition.
Old age is nothing but prestige, for even the young shall mount on this horse of ageing.
Why then are we exiled in this same terrain?

We've been here ten thousand years before the loch.
We've had your histories on our palms.
We wrote your stories on the sands of time.
We held the world until you came.
We tendered your suckling lips with our succulent breasts.
We birthed you in pains until our tears became our race.
We patted you on the back each time you wailed.
We gathered the things you waste in rainy days.
We risked our lives to rent you a future.
We have been the backs you jumped on during the puerile years.
We spoonfed you with wisdom.
We guarded you with so much dignity and respect.
We refused to make you a prey in our hungry days.
We had only hope that you will grow to wash our dirty garments and give us the bread we never ate.
We had only hoped that you will relief us of our miseries and make our fearful days floral days.
We had only hoped that you will make us a part of you and accord us the esteem we deserve.

Nay! You've only abandoned us like criminals in a police nest.
You've stolen the mite box.
This mite box that kept our respect,dignity and pride.
You have denied us the edifice of life and have given us an affinity with misery!
You've made our faces face these rectangular grounds at sunset.
You've made us a corpse in livelihood.
We've been hungry and are still hungry because you have tricked us.

We prithee, return the mite box.
Return our respect, dignity and pride.
Replace these tears with a tour of reverse.
Avenge our motherliness.
Return the mite box, lest you perish with a curse that you cause.

Cries of the old!