Saturday, 7 April 2012


I am thinking I do not write poems,
I am matured one for another journey
That will bring me old age nourishing,
For which I have many works on my part,
And I have to care grand kid, who
Is growing fast to take my charge,
He will soon work for my old age requirements,
Caring the baby will bring me return,
My wife says to buy some kid’s garments,
And I will try to make baby wear shirts,
This job I cannot do till now.

I am thinking I do not write poems,
Air is blowing in spring sweetness,
The evening moves first to night,
I have to take rest and to remove laziness,
In the forbearance of old age blues,
I have to travel yet another journey,
That I am waiting now,
And I have to think again what I need
At the time of this juncture, to fathom
The reality, on my part, to hold some sense,
That will shortly bring empty strength
To my feeble limbs, I do mingle with
Bitter time and part of solitude, when
I feel my lover is not with me, as she is
Away on her long journey with search,
And I have to bring all in one tune,
The damned burns that old age shares.

I am thinking I do not write poems,
As life is short, I have to obey the rules,
Cool with morning pictures, I may not
See them when these will come,
I am thinking I do not write poems,
As all encompassing wishes and beauty of poems
Are already written elsewhere.

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