........An Old man..............

Sitting on a rusty bench
An old man pours
The depths of his heart
His age doesn’t justify
The testimony of what they call Old
Still he is Old
Not for others
But in his Wisdom

And now the childhood begins:
The dream world starts protruding
With its all gnawing and silent protests
Still everyone says, “It was beautiful being a child”
The past holds an illusive beauty
Which was never there

And now the youth steps forward:
With its trampling feet - it wants to smother
But suffers, and runs again; and again suffers
Still everyone says, “ The youth was beautiful”
In a march towards an unknown beauty
It was but all lost

And now the decaying matter; the so called Old:
Looking behind at the passed years
He ponders and in agony
Weeps at his wasted life
Running after one thing or the other
It was but an arid waste
Not even once I thought of
What was worthy of living
A life unexamined,
when reaches near death
Is but irreparable

The past kept hold of an illusive beauty
And future always promised of an unknown beauty
In between these two wheels
The heart headed itself towards death
And now the question remained
“Was it a life worth living?”