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Wednesday, 17 February 2010

Old and Grey

When I am old, old 
With dentures in my mouth full..
Sat caressing by the fire place..

When most I know
In my time of hay..
Have sailed away, this passage through..

When faces and names, 
I am expected to know..
Play hide and seek in my memory box..
Just shy of my tongue, just shy of recollection..

When my bones are without muscles..
Frail and pain engulfs, each step I ask..
Of them to take on walks to have..

When kids shout out, i
n patronising talk..
Thinking if they speak softly, in normal tone ..
I would not hear, so deaf to hear ..

In my grey hair days..
When my love awaits, this world no more..
But on the other side of the fence ..

I will sit and wait for the wave  ..
Of periodic gush of memories I saved..
Of the good times I had in my hay days..

While I  patiently wait with content and smiles..
For the un-driven train that goes down south 
Knowing this has been, a
 good life lived..
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