Change Poem by Valsa George
Change
I stared into the mirror,
Wincing at my own reflection
Through eyes fogged by cataract,
Saw a black tint spreading around my eyes
And face like a wrinkled piece of linen
Where is the bubbly girl of seventeen?
I asked myself
How flamboyant and flaunting I was
Now enveloped in silence
Do anyone remember my younger version,
The little birdie that tweeted endless?
Beneath the shell of this withering cortex
I still have a heart young as ever
Not yet shriveled, but succulent
Full of love and warmth
A sleeping guitar, capable of music
If trained hands move over my taut strings
So please don't take me as a wretched hag,
And push me into a state of silent non-being
Or throw me like the chip of a broken mirror,
Making me feel so inconsequential!
Hi, Valsa! To your last plea, I won’t—not me. I’m reminded again of the seventy-five-year-old man who said to me, when I was just in my mid-fifties, getting old ain’t for sissies. I’m also reminded of my short poem with the title that begins, My Sixty-eight Year Old Self... Hoping this finds you well, Glen
Change is the salt of the life. There is neither growth nor any progress without it yet when it comes to our age we all want to remain young and beautiful, bold and bubbly, chattering and muttering, so long our heart is young and we are not ready to surrender to our body we will enjoy everything without any complaints, A profound poem with a touch of reality. Every line touches the past memories and present situation, Outstanding poem Madam Valsa Ji. Full marks.
A song bird chirps till eternity. That is what you are Valsa. Young forever even if few wrinkles show up on face. Wish you a wonderful time of writing more and more of your lyrics dear friend.
songs comes one by one from the violin of a youth with the easiness and warmth of colored life like an innocent child- my 10++
Thank you dear friend... before I write something the screen flips!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 8:48:12 AM # 1.0.0.1119
The penultimate para is the song everyone on the aft side of age but still graceful I think should sing. This piece has that grace. Well-writ. Me, on very far aft side of age, enjoyed reading it.
The last part, as you think, is the crux of the poem! Thank you sir!