A Place Called Home......The Eldely Infirm Poem by saadat tahir

A Place Called Home......The Eldely Infirm

Rating: 5.0


I was the proverbial busy bee
Up in the attic down on my knee

Brush the piano feed the hare.
Tend the home with loving care.

To the market now, hitch a ride.
Water the hollyhocks on the side.

The fence an lawn were my pride.
So the kids an my hubby's stride.

Walked at a clip an over the hill.
How fast it was I wonder still.

Surely sets to our east and west,
At HOME here, a guess at best.

My glasses I broke on that sill,
get em fixed, don't have the will.

No ones been to see me for days
My sis when called, said she prays

See my hands, he'd tenderly hold,
gave me a solitaire, ringed in gold.

Wrinkled dry, parched with times.
Knobby; shakin, searching dimes.

Could you please do my bed?
Could you nurse have me fed.

O' someone please do my shirts
Do someone, please draw the curts

We wet eyed rock an wait our turns
As nature cavorts an the candle burns

(Islamabad)
(April 22,2009)

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Pandian Angelina 30 April 2009

Saadat, a Very beautiful & touching poem, well capturing the loneliness of the elderly who depend upon the paid relatives [Nurses etc], reminds us of the many elderly in our own familes who wait for our visit. Angel

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~ Jon London ~ 02 May 2009

Well penned sir, a tender touch adds a huge impact to your golden lines.....great piece 10+++

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~ Jon London ~ 02 May 2009

Well penned sir, a tender touch adds a huge impact to your golden lines.....great piece 10+++

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Ashraful Musaddeq 07 May 2009

Wonderful 10+

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Indira Babbellapati 30 May 2009

a true representation of a place called home!

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Inwalked Bud 01 September 2013

Life does go by so quickly..Unfortunately, when so many inevitably reach that age of infirmary, and are totally dependent upon others for their care, no one is there for them. It is truly a very sad and lonely existence, and ending to their lives.. Very touching...

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Yasmin Khan 17 February 2013

Your poem is permeated with philosophy of life. it's candle burning slowly..fleeting and last flicker is death. Last couplet bears plaintive tone and reminds me of Macbeth: 'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more.'

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Ruby Honeytip 19 December 2012

Stevie Taite sent me over to have a look at your work. Absolutely correct was she: -) Stirring words indeed

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Ritty Patnaik 16 June 2009

though old age can be frightening, it is one unavoidable truth all have to face.your poem has a message to all of us, to take care of oldpeople, so our children learn the same.i admire your sensibility, on touching a subject like this. good write.......ritty

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Indira Renganathan 13 June 2009

This trend of Home for aged is so pathetic....while aging itself is too horribly painful..your poem is soul stirring....and thanks for your comment on my 'daybreak'

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