Old Age

On the way back home, they crossed each other, For an instance, over the broken bridge With those wrinkled smiles and tiny eyes Giving a look familiar, at the ridge It was a feeling of known, crossing pass by A shadow which follows both the souls A tear which has flown for near and dears, Shared by the heart, now wet and shallow Gone the years when around them, Crowd gathered and played flutes of relishing Now there is mob of memories outside the door, Knocking each night to post the remaining Birds have left the uncanny nests, Flowers have withered and gone the rains, Now under the parched trees remained, A walking stick, a chair and broken specs When they turned around to see each other, Tiny, fragile figures walking down the rough edge They thought each to themselves with sorrowed eyes, Till when we have to walk down alone the path of old age