Whispers of Senility

With a nose so sound, eyes with spark

With a sunken face carved with sears

With feet that’ll never again touch the Earth

With hands  that’ll never feel the hearth

Mouth so black , unshaven and lack the mark

Of so a successful man, a soldier in wars.

Here he lies on a bed of roses, but thorns for him it is

Cause here it is he learned the meaning of life driven by solitude

So was his fate, who now lives with nothing but faith

A spark of hope to live or to perish but never this wait

 

A dark room, dimly lit with a wall so bare

And just a window, is a pain more than I can bear

Walls are pals, sounds are my zeal;

Loathing all day longing for company with only eyeballs to move

So much happens all ’round , the world so glee and bliss

The crimson pall of dusk veils the Earth

From the depths of welkin with warmth outspread

The evening stars at dawn loose its shine

The shades of grey as soon as fades

The sanguine sunshine, with its ardent rays

Seeps through the narrow pane as always

Lighting the spark of hope within me

The hope for ardour and sweet company

Men may come to see- with his sons and their sons

Like a swarm of golden honey bees-

Whom they call ‘the old helpless soldier’ and show sympathy

Oh! Only if I could hold them back, make them

Stay a while longer but my sealed lips refrain me

But alas! I wonder, whether they have to be

When their father lies here so fragile and meek

Filling the room with inaudible cries, escaping from the heart of the weak

 

Only if they could bring colour to their meaningless life

And drive away, far away this stoical silence

Would their presence be braced, leave the menace.

Every morrow, summer sun with its meteor eyes

Alights the spark of hope, causing the spirits in me to rise.

-Riza [XII A]

 

 

 

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