My Old Age
Crawled back my haggard old age
Into a jubilant youth of a man
Just past late midnight and asked me
What was the wrong did you do?
Being baffled and confused I remained silent
And kept looking blank for a moment
Then I closed my eyes to tell him the truth
But I did not as I fear he would not come again
To listen to me what is kept unexpressed
My young age is like my child
Jolly, cherubic and energetic
Innocently asks me sometimes
What is the wrong with you and mother?
I could tell him, easily, the straight truth
But I could not, how could I?
Rather the right thing would be to say
My old age is the product of love of my youthful age.