The dusk of hopelessness

The dusk of hopelessness

Look at these lines, 

Deeply etched on this face of mine,

Each tells a story, 

Of joy, hope and glory.

Your load I smilingly and willingly bore, 

With strength and patience galore, 

When beauty was writ large on my face,

I was a symbol of youth and nubile grace.

With every little cry of yours,

Oh little one, I stayed up nightly hours,

Your tiny little hand I held, 

Every little morsel to you ,I fed.

And now my vision's failing,

I'm weak, frail , bent and ailing,

My hair is brittle and silvery white,

And with every ghost I have to fight.

My child, my mind is not so clear,

Memory fades and demons I fear,

Of death that's stalking me so near,

Now I need you most my dear.

Yet, in an old age home I stay, 

With blurred memories of work and play,

You have no time or will to stay, 

To hear my dreary tales of day.

But every wrinkle wants to say, 

A word, a look, a thought astray,

My darling son, youth doesn't stay,

It fleetingly finds it's way,

To a dusky land of hopelessness

To a dusky land of hopelessness....

Pic courtesy: Dr. Sanjay Dhawan