Old and withered,
yet there remains something unfigured
Losing all notions
what is left of my emotions
Is it time to go ?
It is already ‘a long time ago’?
Why I am stunned?
For me, there is no pension fund
Is it the fear
to not be remembered?
Questioning my existence
I am feeling this resistance.
When lived as a unique identity
now why this attachment of terrenity?
No legacy, not even a name,
No one to make a claim.
May be it is the end of the game
but here, it all remains the same.
So why do I still stand here?
Am I waiting for a Shakespeare,
who will write on the stages of my life?
Look at that purple loosestrife
to whom I provide a shelter
hoping this purity can melt her.
I am to my mother, the nature
A little tree in her portraiture.
[ A random thought that occurred to me last weekend, while taking a stroll. Thanks to Rini, for she helps me express my emotions in poetic form sometimes.]
(Picture Credits: Avinash Kumar)