Lone Furrow Poem by Ajit Das

At day break when life stirs out of night’s slumber,
early mists evaporate in the slanting sun beams,
joggers come out on the street in steady numbers,
an old man leaning on a ‘walker’ brings up the rear.
Slowly he limps forward, an old woman by his side,
her hand on his arm, helping to keep the balance.
And they trudge on, as if they’re outside the world.

Long ago they set out together, crossing the portal,
pledging to share joy and grief in equal measure;
they performed their duties, raised the children
who now dwell in their future world of dreams.
Time changes; its dreary phase stares in the face
of the old couple, left to plough their lone furrow -
shaky steps, bony grip, yet hazy eyes fixed ahead.