“Old Heads, New Eyes”

 “Old Heads, New Eyes”

Why do we call them old heads with spite?
As if wisdom were dust in the fading twilight?
As if age were a flaw we must laugh and dismiss,
While forgetting the arms that once taught us to kiss.

We mock the slow steps, the graying of hair,
Yet forget who first lifted us high in the air.
Forget who worked fingers to the bone and to bleed,
To plant every seed we would ever need.

We scroll and we swipe with our heads held so high,
But who built the roads that we now walk by?
The ones who endured wars, injustice, and chains—
Their voices now echoes, their legacies strained.

How quickly we label, how eager the sneer,
Yet our mothers and fathers are growing near.
The mirror reflects more than youth and style—
It reflects our future in just a short while.

That “old head” you joke on, that man you ignore,
It could be your uncle who slept on the floor
To feed five children with a janitor's wage,
Now written off as just "too old for this age.”

Your grandmother's stories you scroll past with glee—
Yet in her tales, there's the root of your tree.
That same “old head” once fought for your rights,
Marched in the day and prayed through the night.

It’s not just a phrase, it’s a crack in the soul,
A break in the bond that once made us whole.
Disrespect stains like a wound we can’t mend—
And age is not weakness—it’s where we begin.

So next time you speak with a smirk or a laugh,
Remember your lineage, remember your path.
Show love to the elders who carried your name,
For one day, you'll walk with that very same cane.