Those little drops of water collecting
By the side must be tears
from some yesteryears.
Tears accumulated but withheld for another day.
And now that day has come
And the tears emerge slowly.
I can see you shake your head
The glory of old age is not what is understood
The glory is not the crown but a silence
Of what is not said
And now the years have passed
And there is the finality of ‘no tomorrow’
Old age is not the wonderful state
that younger people idolize
and use the words ‘noble’ and ‘dignified’!
It is fragility and pain that is unspoken
What dignity is there in helplessness
What words can be used for pain
How do you share the sorrow of not being
Master of your own fate ?