Middle Age Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

(for Lean on his 39th birthday)

Like a swing, we are
caught
between the past and the future
We survey the years in the calendars
we dumped into the trash can
The remembered feel of our mothers
cuddling us to their breasts
soothing away our nightmares
The bitter-sweet memories of youth
Of the joys we can know only in first love,
of the pain only fallen first loves brings
Of elations, of heartbreaks
Of vows broken, of vows honored
The smell of baby powder on the miracles
that emerged from our loins or wombs,
a testimony that life does not die
Of marches on the streets chanting appeals
to the Establishment
Of defeats, of successes

How gratifying to take in that the years behind
are not under losses on life’s balance sheet
Suddenly, we want to be stranded in the present
to be closer to the past and its gains
In the inevitable march to the future,
we hesitate to cross the frontier
But a look beyond our weary steps
exposes the opportunities ahead
beckoning like the tantalizing brilliance of
diamonds and rubies
A world of dreams to pursue and
promises to fulfill
How seductive the future is
as it waits for us!

We hate changing calendars
Each one thrown is a distance closer to the tomb
But it is also a distance away
from heartaches only time can heal,
from mistakes only time can consign to the oblivion

The years have been of laughter and pain
The days have been short, the days have been long
In the coming days they will be so
For life, truly, is a grand design of time,
A time to weep, a time to laugh
A time for heartbreak, a time for ecstasy:
always a puzzling mixture of both
always a fascinating smorgasbord
of contradictions and constants,
of synonyms and antonyms

Not a curse to be exorcised
Age is destiny to be embraced