If wisdom had a smell It would smell of old books Passed down from generation to generation Revealing the truths about the enigma called time. The truths which cannot be purchased Even by the highest bidder. That smell that unveils the arduous work of writers Known and unknown. That smell that reveals family trees of readers Seen and unseen. That smell that conquers ignorance Once knowledge is sought. If wisdom had a smell It would smell like an old, well-read copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin Revealing the evil behind the thoughts and actions of slavery. That smell that encompasses sacrifice. That smell that brings words and characters to life. That smell that raises positive movements that will In time, save humankind. If wisdom had a smell It would smell of old wrappers Worn by mothers and even fathers, Instinctively used to wipe the tears Of their children away, Used with love to cover them from the rain or sun. Oh, the smell of that long piece of fabric With drawings of horses, stars,...
I heard them laughing, pointing at different buildings at each bus stop. Some were tall, old, and short buildings but they had something in common. They were whitewashed. The daughter talked more than her mother. She even laughed out loud sometimes as if they were the only passengers onboard. They occupied the first two seats on the deck of the bus and could see the clouds moving slowly even better than the driver. The daughter pointed to a small house and said to her mother: “Ma, do you remember Auntie Debbie? She used to live in a tiny house just like that. Ha-ha! It was too small to even accommodate our cat when I was 7, remember?” “Yes, I remember darling. But you’re all grown up, tired of kitty. She is all mine now.” They both smiled and then the daughter mumbled something, and it turned into a wild laugh, as if something went awry in their heads. My mother will not laugh with me like this. Never! I thought. In fact, I dared not laugh at anyone’s house - big or small. ...