O let my Old Age be Mellow
Thou art to soul as sleep is to my strife,
The cheeks when look no more rosy and full,
Lips red, nor knees so sturdy of a mule,
The flesh when falters, wrinkles getting rife,
In feeble frame and grey forgetting brain,
Mind’s will unable so firm to remain.
So, come, O Death, like lingering night's sleep,
Come to me like velvety smooth winter,
Or be thou golden yellow soft summer,
For a tired soul that lived full, well and deep,
To whom life seems like a day's work well done,
A night's rest well-earned to face morrow's sun.
In glimmering sunset's withering glow,
O let my old age be somewhat mellow.
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Sonnet |03.01.2008| life, death, old age
Poet’s note: Childhood being a period of innocence is by and large quite blissful. The old age also can be quite so if it is truly treated as a second childhood. Life and death are equal journeys as death happens right from birth— why this sonnet is equally divided in two sestets followed by a couplet.
Copyright ©
Aniruddha Pathak
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