THE SONNET OF THE OLD

THE SONNET OF THE OLD


Don’t think that I am just a burnt out force,
That nothing worthwhile is now left in me.
My life might have taken an ageing course.
Age can’t cut a giant to a pygmy.

My hands may shake and my legs may totter,
I may be toothless, my grasp may be weak.
You may think that I aimlessly loiter
And that I don’t have anything to speak.

Rest assured, I observe all that’s around,
With eyes and mind sharp like that of an owl.
In my wisdom, I don’t want to confound
Others by pointing out that things are foul.

My friend, the old may be old in body,
But stout remains their mental rhapsody.


M C Gupta
7 May 2007