An Old Cottage Poem by Amar Agarwala

I see upon a hillock brown
An old cottage of no renown,
A chimney quaint with red-tiled roof
With a garden path winding down;

The yard in front dotted with trees
Teeming with butterflies and bees,
With roses and peonies bright
Redolent of bright morning pleas;

Its lime-washed walls which ivies scale
Then adorn with stone-flowers pale,
And there are reindeer-lichens too
Which nudge in-between to regale;

The boughs abound with twitter gay
Make merry be it night or day,
Perhaps there are grass-hoppers too
Who wait till dusk to have their say;

A shadow walks there in the sun
Lending credence there is someone,
Who lives inside that lonely space
Sans fleeting joys and scanty fun;

Sweet twitter from nests overhead
Echoes around a bushy bed,
They seem to tell me of a tale
It lulls my ears and prongs my head;

The man who walks is old and bent
Could match not steps where others went,
I know his gait, I know him well
His wizened hair and seasoned vent;

His looks are mine - an older me
My face across eternity,
And now I know that I am him
A lonely boat on yonder sea;

Was not sure if it were a dream
Though as real as it did seem,
Now I know where my future lies
Which my fate can never redeem;

A cottage old, a lonely life
Across a sea of pain and strife,
Oh Lord my fevered destiny!
Sad heaven's tune upon its fife.

And near that olden window sill
I know that death waits by the rill,
To carry me across that bridge
Of silvered planks and golden frill;

Another home for me to find
Wherein long last I would unwind,
Until my soul is back again
To seek a life that would be kind.
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