In a village far, where the lights don't glow,
No rushing cars, no Wi-Fi flow.
A friend sat still, with time to see,
The world untouched, just simplicity.
No buzzing phones, no tech in hand,
Just trees, the sky, and quiet land.
Face-to-face, with words unhurried,
No need to chase, no reason to worry.
'Civilization, ' he softly said,
'Is more than tools and comfy beds.
It's courtesies and standards bright,
The things we miss when out of sight.'
So now I ask, in this fast-paced race,
What would you miss in that quiet place?
The little things you hardly see,
Until they're gone—what would they be?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem