Saturday, 7 April 2012


I am thinking whether I can write a poem,
I have traveled a long way from another world, 
It was another journey where poetry is nosebleed. 
And I come to this old age that needs nourishing 
From loved ones, so as to travel in Volvo, rest time,
It is now another performance to protect me, 
From all ills, as it is an static lawn umbrella, fixed.  
And I have to play with grand kids 
Who will take care me, when they will be grown up. 

I am thinking whether I can write a poem,
Air is blowing in spring bazaar,
Evening is coiling like rope around me, 
I am on the rest and try to remove laziness, 
In forbearance of old age winding, 
I have to travel last leg to my journey,
And for that I am preparing now. 
I am the elderly passenger in the family
I have to prepare for that journey to leave this town
Earlier than what it is an incidence to happen now. 
These days I have to think of some reality,
Those I do not realize when I was young, 
The reality, on my part, to hold some sense,
I have to struggle against odds those are usual
On my way of survival to gain strength, 
And a dashboard button has to be placed, 
To work for my feeble limbs, and for safety too. 
The little link that I hold for this weak time
It is one mind that grows with age's knowledge,
The soul's existence over time and again,
Unbreakable and not conquered by mirth of  
Brazen strength that I do not posses now. 

I am thinking I cannot write poems,
And life is short, I have to obey the rules,
Cool with Bharatnatyam, I may not
See them when these will come in my vision,
I am sure I do not write poems, because
All encompassing wishes and beauty of poems
Are already written elsewhere,
In one entirety. 

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