The Weight Of Yesterday Poem by ashok jadhav

The village stands with walls both old and worn,
Its customs carved in memory and stone.
The elders speak with voices trained by time,
Insisting what has always been is right.
Yet youth arrives with fire in restless hands,
And questions every rule they did not make.
The old ways cling, not out of malice, no,
But from the comfort of the paths well-trod.
Change presses softly, yet it cannot pause,
And friction sparks where certainty meets hope.
Each argument is measured in small lives,
Each compromise a bridge across the rift.
Perhaps the truth lies neither in the past
Nor solely in the promise of the new,
But in the careful weaving of the two,
Where honor bends to reason, not to fear.