Generation Gap

Poem By Valsa George

The old man twitched his brow,
Blasting music, jarring his ears,
Endurance threatened, he rose from his armchair,
Dragging weary limbs, he staggered away.

His grandson in cargo jeans,
Gyrated and swivelled to the jazz,
Drumming beats drove him crazy,
His waist swayed in rollicking jig.

To ease his growing annoyance,
Withdrew the oldster to his solitary space,
His eyes, searching for his betel box,
Tucked away under his grubby cot.

Groping in dark, he looked high and low,
And in every nook of his dingy room,
His shocking gaze soon espied,
His betel box freshly polished.

A flash of terror beat across his soul,
No more value than an antique piece!
His betel box – made a show piece.
What would he be – a shock piece?
or a mock piece? !

The old man closed his eyes,
His hands folded in ardent prayer.
His lips parted feebly in a whisper,
“Hare Ram! Hare Krishna….
Hare…..”

Comments about Generation Gap

You have very keenly observed the old man and you have felt the changing emotion. His lips parted feebly in a whisper, “Hare Ram! Hare Krishna…The saddest moment is felt with his closing of eyes. The witness of generation gap is wonderfully captured. This poem gives deep emotion...10++
His grandson in cargo jeans, Gyrated and swivelled to the jazz, Drumming beats drove him crazy, His waist swayed in rollicking jig.......You have brilliantly unfolded the fact! Thanks dear madam for sharing...10
The old man closed his eyes. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Oh, you have portrayed a picture from a different perspective on the same theme though, poignantly and dramatically too. I can visualize the whole scene like a drama.
I am surprised when and how you see me and described me in your poem. Yes I am a lover of betel with chewing tobacco.


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