Old Age

Loneliness.

The desolation of the room,
The standstill Summer's sweat,
The moan of the deprecated memory,
In the fossils of adolescence and youth,
When crowd around your nowhere signal,
And the ghosts of bed-soaked arms,
Stare oblique irony at your unimportance,
You feel the beguiles of mirage with no oasis.

No resource to buy oil,
No pump agrees to supply,
The threshold waits to bid you the goodbye.

by Bazi alis Subrata Ray

Comments (2)

Yes, -the vacation of mundane pilgrimage is seen with yellow leaves
Very rightly and idiomatically the truth of old age is put across when our past is fossilised and nobody around us likes to spare a thought or two for us. Thanks. I quote a few lines: Stare oblique irony at your unimportance, You feel the beguiles of mirage with no oasis.