You take a step into the road and fumble,
Out of nowhere a green bus come and blows horn,
Years that is gone before you think back
As if standing behind the plate glass window-
Of the cemented wall of the barren land
Working well into the old age
Wrinkled face piteously dusty,
Gestures that burn with a quiet scrutiny,
Being in harmony with the surroundings-
Move out slowly from yourselves
Ruefully rubbing head and shoulder,
Looking through your once pierced now blurred eyes
Like rural idylls where time stands still-
Memories resurface like flakes of clouds
Coming out slowly, unaware of irony,
The fine lines that silently demark
Only you can understand the moment,
Another life seems to be beckoning you
Fall of light, all disappear or there, or elsewhere.
Memories always etch fine lines- they may be crumpled , wrinkled but they etch fine lines , as in this poem.
A wonderful poem dsplaying the stepping into seniority and the rush and nature of memories. The last line took me to the first line again.
The quality and subject matter of , ” Twilight years ” brings to mind the resonances evoked by that line of Verlaine’s , ” the violins of autumn wound my heart with a monotonous langour “.
Thanks Lokesh, Louis and Sana for the beautiful comments and appreciations.