When I Am Old
WHEN I AM OLD
When I am old, turn into a lone log of dry wood,
mellow spring air won’t add gloss to the wrinkled skin.
The piling years would cloud the vision for good,
nothing would then come close in focus to be seen.
When I am old, turn into a crumpled mass of brittle leaf,
in the winds of harsh time would drift from place to place.
When familiar faces would turn away you wouldn’t know the grief
I’d suffer living a desolate life in the shadow of senile disgrace.
When I am old, in a frail rack turn into a coverless book,
in pale prints of brown pages the story of youth would fade away.
I would sit by the window at dusk but you wouldn’t even look,
my heart would silently break, not a word to you I’d say.
When I am old, look for the warm touch of empathy to hold,
don’t forsake me, give me your helping hands not so cold.
July 28. 2018
Contest : Any July, 2018 Poem
Sponsored by : Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy | Year Posted 2018
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