My beautiful old lady. I met her at a busy day on the old market. She wore a tie, a grey raincoat, big round glasses and a round hat. And she was sensitive and shy like a little girl.
She moved with small steps from the one bench to the other and her look was full of curiosity. A feminist she was and an intellectual. Now, she keeps on moving on the streets, admiring small moments and discussing with small traders about the weather and the fruits and the vegetables she wishes to taste. All is interesting. All is new to her. All her life everything was new to her.
Did I scare her? I wouldn’t know. But then she didn’t say anything to me. She just saw me and froze. Was it because of fear? I believe it was because of shyness. Her hands reached one another, her eyes questioned me. She felt insecure. This kind lady just seemed new in this old world. For her qualities do not fit those of many.
My beautiful old lady with her round glasses and the round hat.
I can see her now young and beautiful, different from all the rest of the girls. Dressed like a boy. True to her emotions and thoughts. True to her first love. Didn’t compromise, she stayed strong and faithful to herself. Because, after all, she was a shy and sensitive girl.
And that is what kept her young in all these long years. Her young soul is evident to all. In her old face, there is something young and new. All is visible now for everyone to see. A strong soul, no evil left its scars in there.