Longing...that is what I keep doing, day after day, hour after hour.
I long for the return of the innocence I knew as a child on my mother's breast.
I long for the love and care my poor parents showered me with then.
I long for the joy we had in knowing that we existed for each other despite the scarcity.
I long to see the happiness they had on their faces as each beautiful daughter arrived in their world.
I long for the closeness we shared then.
I long for those long-gone days when barefooted, we ran all over the countryside picking wildflowers and berries, fetching water from the well, collecting firewood in the forest or just enjoying a walk in the sunset to the call of homecoming birds.
I long for the innocent curiosity the girls and I had over the ever-winding cars of the train as it rattled along the old rails near our home.
I log for the times when a passing tractor had us running to that hole in the fence to shout our greetings to the prisoners aboard and the way shouted and waved at a seldom-seen airplane overhead.
I long for the way our dear parents showed us love, working hard to see us through good schools.
I long for those visitations we had when in boarding school that meant the world to us.
I long for those times of scarcity for then we all appreciated and loved each other, enjoying each other's company.
I long for those good old days when times were bad...
Poet: Sylvia Olivia Namulindwa
