I honor the elders.
Their lacerated skin, as the bark of an ancient oak, shows the scars of each blow received through their existence.
Every wrinkle is the memory of a deceased loved one, of every disappointment.
The elders are the last vestige of a world almost extinct which has been methodical and mercilessly demolished.
They are like the old skin of a snake that has been slowly torn apart to give way to a new and fragile one that ultimately will suffer the same fate.
In their loneliness, they are the constant reminder of our destiny; their serenity and wisdom are the result of a slow and painful process that has taught them that the only way to face their inevitable faith is humility and resignation.
Everything else are futile attempts to try to forget that everything we cherish will be consumed by the incessant dripping of the sand clock.