Here is an interesting composition on old age from Mr Subbarayan Subbaraman, who has kindly agreed for it to be posted here.
Just a line to say I’m living
That I’m not among the dead
Though I’m getting more forgetul
And all mixed up in my head.
I got used to my arthritis
To my dentures I’m resigned
I can manage my bifocals
But, dear God, I miss my mind!
For sometimes I can’t remember
When I stand at the foot of the stairs
If I must go up for something
Or have I just come down from there?
And before the fridge so often
My poor mind is filled with doubt
Have I put some food away
Or have I come to take something out?
And there’s a time, when it is dark
I stop and hold my head
I don’t know if I’m retiring
Or am I getting out of bed?
So, if it is my turn to write to you
There’s no need of getting sore,
I may think that I have written
And don’t want to be a bore,
So, remember that I love you
and wish that you were near
But now it’s nearly mail time
So must say ‘goodbye, dear’.
Here I stand before the mail box
With a face so very red
Instead of mailing you my letter
I went and opened it, instead!
{This poem has been quoted by Mr. M.V. Kamath in his book , ‘A reporter at large’ (pages 753-54)}
(Related Post: https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2015/02/01/when-age-is-only-a-number)
A poignant description of old age
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Yes, indeed. Nevertheless, it is also a time to really enjoy life, sans any core responsibilities. Much depends on the state of our health, though.
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