Autumn Years of His Life

I saw that elderly man this Sunday He says he travels to my town everyday In his 80s he appears feeble His reedy bones are seeable This old chap is thin as a stick I find him so polite, I call him a brick He looks like a parched tree without fruits His body tremors and dying his roots His grey hair looks neat and smart But his wrinkly face looks swart He keeps walking at a snail’s pace Unlike us, he’s not a part of this rat race He has no one to live for There is no one he can die for I don’t know where he goes everyday I don’t know what is he searching for Oh old man you’ve outlived your family You now look older than the hills You too should depart this life peacefully You don’t deserve this agony and desolation anymore