A Camphor In The Air Poem by lalitha iyer
A Camphor In The Air
Slowly
I am ageing
start was slow
but pace is fast
I did not realise
only when the hair greyed
did I wonder
that I am matured
It is a tragedy
to ripen is to fruit
to mature is fatal
though maturity is wisdom
Slowly I have lost interest
yes, my urge to dress up
and enjoy life afresh
is losing momentum
and I am lagging unwanted
It all began
with my loss of identification
of beings of either Gender
I started treating
Hes and Shes
as if what use
the difference could make?
It is a retreat
all battles have been won
no more passions
lurking underneath
stirring unwanted emotions.
My limbs are crazy
they behave painfully drowsy
the lust for life
it is in the snail pace strife
I miss nothing,
but suddenly everything is gone
blank is the page
ink in the letters have evaporated
the perfume in the bottle
it has become perfect air
no softness in the texture
no satin in the hair touch
nomore my skin
reacts to delicate moisturisers
I just feel
I am a clueless camphor
distilled in the air,
bodyless, odourless
past melted into...... nowhere.
Most beautiful thing about this poem is that it carries more meaning than visible in the words.
a neat poem neatly sketched. start was slow aut pace is fast. ho how nice. i think this must woes of a man above 70 or a woman above 60 in modren standered.10
lowly I have lost interest yes, my urge to dress up and enjoy life afresh is losing momentum and I am lagging unwanted... True of a woman in her ageing process mam. Yes mam, we women fail to love ourselves in the course of loving others! Thanks for sharing the beautiful thought mam.
The poem has briefly and wonderfully stated the condition of an aged individual and its downfalls and felt it good.
explains the central idea well very touching for those who can understand very well written
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/4/2025 10:53:02 PM # 1.0.0
Your depiction of life's course is well documented in this very touching and real piece of poetry that is unmistakably refreshing. Younger days ahead. mandara