solutions unfound
archaic unchanged condemns~
d
e c r e p i t fetid
We cannot fight old age – So, when I get there… I’ll just embrace it with a big dollop of humour!! Quote by poet.
My decrepit body makes me cry
Growing old ain’t fun, I cannot lie
My bladder leaks, it makes me sigh
Pelvic exercises I will have to try!
I’m not so agile, I am way too slow
When I need the loo I HAVE to go
Cos I can’t control my urine flow
Pass me a nappy, I won’t say no!!
I piddle when I cough or sneeze
I’m chesty, got an awful wheeze
My boobs have sagged well past my knees
Do I want a new body - ooh yes please!
To hear bird song really loud and clear
I need a hearing aid for my deaf ear
Going totally deaf I truly fear
I’ll get ears checked again this year
My aching limbs sure give me gyp
Got arthritis in my knees and hip
No cure for wrinkles around my lip
Anti aging creams dumped in the tip!
I repeat myself, that’s no falsehood
Instructions can be misunderstood
I repeat myself, that’s no falsehood
Oops my memory is not very good
I am a decrepit, I'll tell you why
Even though telling you will make me cry
My world has been turned around, upside down
And I've developed an eternal frown.
I've tried to be helpful all of my life
Now, sadly I have to think more than twice
I've been backstabbed and I'm truly forlorn
If only I could have been told, for-warned.
My life means nothing to me anymore
Happiness and joy has flown from my door
I won’t help anyone else, as before
Only my hubby, the one I adore.
Here I sit wondering how to go on
Will I be disliked now, by everyone
Can one's joy of living ever come back
After they have been verbally attacked.
The hurt I feel is driving me insane
It will never happen ever again
I'll hide away, keeping me to myself
I hope the backstabber's proud of herself.
* * *
‘Alas ! My heart had to leave its treasures at sides of path of Life to end
at ‘ Death’. - Poet
In last phase decrepit heart to mourn.
All achievements turned obsolete.
Once seeds of confidence were sown.
Now strength of mind is deleted.
No time to rectify mistakes.
In last phase decrepit heart to mourn
Burnt desires to fly in ash flakes.
Only despondency is shown.
In senile decay hope is blown.
Purposeless life to drag in vain.
In last phase decrepit heart to mourn.
No bonding left, nothing to gain.
Case for my ‘LIFE ‘ is still pending -
My ‘TIME’ is up ! Court is adjourned.
Life to meet obvious ending.
In last phase decrepit heart to mourn.
Suddenly a face in the mirror stares back,
You're growing old...silver hairs in black.
Evening twilight fades into a dark night.
Why do colours no longer look bright?
With small dark rings under sunken eyes
the peach sunset, is just a weary sunrise.
Taut cheeks drooping, wrinkles everywhere
Carefree youth abandoned to old-age care.
Life keeps melting like a flickering candle,
a new generation, my wisdom can't handle.
Fatigue of arthritis, a feeble body groans,
dull senses slow down, time eroded bones.
I no longer find people to sit and talk,
nothing new happens round the clock.
Crevices and corners I can no longer reach
I change the ways of thoughts and speech.
Rejoicing the memories of low and high tides,
a vast field is visible where the horizon hides.
Decrepit days and months turn lonely years,
in doorways of nostalgia, future disappears.
I am again a child, longing to jump and play
my soul grows stronger, on every birthday.
I glanced into the broken mirror,
The fragments, now separated by cracks,
Like islands by a river, each holding a piece of myself,
And I, a lamenting boatman, lost in the very waters in between.
On one island, I saw the old river bank, by the daffodils,
Where we sat and played and sang songs of youth,
The river flows the same and daffodils sway still,
But now, it cherishes faces unknown, songs unheard.
As I tried in despair to bloom again the yesternight's flower,
A thought bloomed instead, a haunting thought indeed,
That the soil had already been buried in the dust
And the wind had already departed to the distant lands.
And here I stay, a lamenting boatman, lost in between,
Too decrepit to hold on to the yesternight's flower,
I once again glanced into the broken mirror,
And I see my true self......... as broken.
“A beautiful car is something to be adored and if possible, restored in later years
to its former beauty. Some of your best memories it keeps.” by poet
There is a very old decrepit car.
She was my father’s “baby” long ago.
Named Jaguar D – like a Superstar -
she cruised downtown with a polished glow.
The young kids oohed and ahhed when she went by.
Unwanted now – she sits in Grandpa’s field
like a pet (once adored) left out to die.
She’s rusted and busted; her window shield
is shattered, and I bet bees made a hive
inside her engine, for her hood is raised.
Why couldn't she have been restored to thrive
and as an antique, she could have been praised.
Out to pasture is her degradation;
to be towed and crushed: her destination.
looking
worse for wear
at the mercy
of winter's harsh elements.
a stray dog,
sad of eyes,
clothed in all black
to match her mood.
emaciated and weather-beaten;
a labrador retriever
with her tail
tucked behind her hind legs
softly whimpering
shivering.
oh, you poor thing...
how far is your home?
scared
untrusting
of strangers;
perennially running
from rescue.
with a looped leash,
I approach, again....
she takes a step back
I come closer...closer....closer...
she turns
and sprints away.
I won't give up,
I'll do my best...
to help bring you in...
from the cold.
“The fervent garden grieves as the frail flowers called love
enwrap the shards of broken heart” – Quote by poet
The rhapsody of rainbow morphs into morose mélange,
bleeding colors bleached from the twilight zone clouds
that rainstorm daubs as blemish on dilapidated essence
when the shades of grey paint the frayed linen of love.
The requiem of roses resonates in melancholic medley,
the petals pine for dripping tear drops of mourning dew,
desiccating in somber sunshine in the deserted mind,
while the fallen flowers make frail bouquet of passion.
Cacophony encapsulated in the cauldron of mute melody,
chaotic symphony dismantles on the discord waves of desire.
Strained smiles sneer the scarred scenario of the senile life,
music turns to convoluted noise echoed by the battered soul.
As you drift away blowing a devastating storm of apathy,
my fervor is fragmented to lie in the debris of ecstasy.
The lattice of life seen through the languid cynic lens
magnifies into the crooked contortion of decrepit heart.
As yellow leaves wither in the autumn breeze,
only apathetic thoughts remain
in this nonchalant existence of
my diseased body and over the hill mind!
It reminds me a time of agility,
A time of struggle and celebrations,
An age when dreams of a better future bloomed,
And leaping up those stairs to pluck the petals of success.
The illusion of youth, believing I would remain the same forever,
My beauty, once admired by the mirror,
My body, that lied about its boundless strength,
And the willpower that upheld my beliefs!
Now, my poor mind, dreadfully distressed,
on the fritz of my worn body parts.
Here I am, at the dusk of my life,
panting and staring at the steep stairs
called ‘rest of my time’!
I wonder, are there any tears left
to cry over the memories of my vigorous days?
Or, has time swallowed even the sorrow, leaving only silence?
Before midnight ticks, I turn to my
interior world ,
One that cradles myrhh
of reminisces and sagas,
Allowing breaths to inhale the agony
and radiance of loved ones' trails
now beyond my physical reach--
Watching the decrepit portraits on
the foyer, July air greets the dew
on blossoms, monarchs flitting in my yard
then fading softly in the shade--
reminding me how age- torn, tattered
past seasons have turned this manor down
I am stilled by the rustle
from maples breathing as if their
whiffs understand my untold ancestry...
Perhaps, I am getting old,
or maybe wise enough
to scrape my pen amid bundled journals,
unearthed by many vintage pages
still to come. And go.
1st place
“Restoring beauty from decrepitness
fulfills the heart with treasured happiness.”
_by Poet
Decrepit was a table we once owned,
part of our living room so long ago,
left in the home, my Dad, in time, had sold.
After my Mom had passed, he let it go
with other matching pieces, later sold
by the new owners, barring this one piece
left at the curbside, mixed with other trash.
I saw this, and my heart could find no peace.
Dilapidated, shabby, and decayed
our antique table, which my Mom adored,
was left unguarded in a leaky shed-
abandoned and exposed- so poorly stored.
I placed it in my trunk and drove away
to meet a friend with fine restoring apt.
I knew he'd make it look as good as new;
decrepit to a polished look, adapt.
It soon appeared as I remembered it;
restored into a lovely work of art.
I do embrace it as my mother's gift.
This heirloom has returned to never part.
Experience is the only thing that brings knowledge,
and the longer you are on earth the more experience
you are to get. --L. Frank Baum The Wizard of Oz
Designed to stain the credibility of soul.
Eager to kick down the road, the sage.
Conclusion, that wrinkles and scents,
Regardless of impact, don’t matter.
Eager to pretend that youthfulness won’t fade.
Progeny was in those creaky bones.
Icy, the feelings of the crowd; God sees
Tottering old fools as roots, not weeds.
Many mountains, seas, women, and dollars made
But for you only was each moment played
As an aged wine flask, your decrepit skin cracks
As flaccid muscles bend your creaking back
Hard hammer toes hamper your stiff walking style
Toilet king, bilious bombard of bile
Fog obscures your mind, only to rise again
Wishing for many things which might have been
Stung as by tzetse flies you cannot forget
Fantasies won’t revive corpses of regret
Too late, with dreams drooling down your hoary chin
Awaken to the state you are now in -
A dream without legs, with all hope beyond reach -
A jellyfish sunbathing on a beach.
Visiting the small town of my youth,
I longed to find lost moments of truth.
I tried to find the hope left behind,
Time and young days are hard to unwind.
I never forgot this town, or names.
Time changed it, yet it is still the same.
The difference is time has erased
All the moments of our time and place.
Buildings where we laughed: decrepit now,
Moonlight dancing: they do not allow.
Where are the dreamers, we had plenty
Old, decrepit, dreaming they're twenty
we may have a dream that has grown old
One we've polished into a rare gold.
And a dream we have may one day die,
Not decrepit, it leaves on a sigh.
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