At the Age of Ninety
At the age of ninety
Time is scarce,
But memories plenty!
Beneath the wizened face,
The mind reflects,
On the many defects,
Of the journeys past,
Moments that did not last,
Memories that are distant,
Of voices that now are silent,
The childhood that was,
That knew no laws,
Youth that had no fear,
That rebelled it’s peer,
And in the process lost,
All that was dear,
Moments that cannot
Be restored,
Stories that cannot
be retold,
Now In silence
and ignored,
By the offsprings
She adored...
Not land, not gold!
No! not even a treasure trove!
All She wants Is a hand to hold
A few king words of love.
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