Old age Rubaiyat
Beneath the amber glow of dusk’s embrace,
I dine alone with clocks that clear their throats,
My shadow keeps me warm and knows my face,
While silence hums old tunes it never quotes.
I toast to love with yesterday’s cheap oats,
A bachelor saint with mismatched socks and prayer,
Still flirting with the moon in awkward notes,
As if she might look down and almost care.
The moon, a chalice tipped by unseen hands,
Spills silver like forgiveness hard to earn,
It knows the jokes of those who make their stands,
Alone, yet hope the heart might someday learn.
I ask the dark if love will still return,
Or if God keeps it shelved for wiser years;
The answer laughs — live well, and let it burn —
So grace pours in, despite unanswered tears.
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