When We Grow Old
It's true that one day we'll grow old
Maybe we'd be like pack of cigarettes
Stashed near the cupboard
Laying near the broomstick
Bundled together with worn-out ropes
Like cables that are patched with tapes
Walking around with sticks long laden with thoughts
Accumulated for ages and Sun-beaten
Maybe we'd be tan already from life's sun-heat
Or Wed feel like old locks whose keys have been lost
They say we might be like cupboards with worn hinges
Or broken bottles on dumpsites
Or maybe we'd be like car garages
With old tools laying around
Or bolts whose turns have gone out of turns
What they say seem to scare me
That being old isn't much of a blessing as we'd thought
Should I stay and grow stricken in age
What if feebleness sets in?
Would this life still be meaningful to me?
Oh! What if life is as beautiful as a blossoming tree
Like nocturnal flowers by the river side
What a sight in site that would be
Yes, I'd love that; growing old would be
Meaningful
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