My Body, Remember (I Am 60 Years Old) Poem by Mohammad Yousef

My body, remember—
the laughter of youth,
the rush of mornings,
the thrill of untraveled paths,
each heartbeat a drum,
a call to adventure,
a promise of endless tomorrows.

Remember the soft touch of grass,
the sun's golden embrace,
the salt of the sea
kissing my skin,
the dance of shadows
as I twirled beneath the sky,
a tapestry woven with dreams.

Now, the mirror reflects
a tapestry worn at the edges,
a map of moments carved
in lines and curves.
The echoes of late-night laughter
have become whispers of wisdom,
each ache a story,
each scar a badge of survival.

I run my hands over my arms,
the arms that cradled my children,
that lifted me in triumph,
that held the weight of loss.
The strength still lingers,
but now it speaks in whispers,
reminding me to slow down,
to savor the quiet.

Remember the nights spent
under a blanket of stars,
the secrets shared,
the dreams woven tight,
when the world felt infinite,
and I was a part of its pulse.

Oh, how I danced then—
with reckless abandon,
the rhythm of life
coursing through my veins,
each step a declaration,
each twirl a fight against time.

But now, my body,
you are a wise companion,
teaching me to listen,
to pause, to breathe
in the beauty of the present,
to fold myself into moments
like a flower curling towards the sun.

Remember, my body,
the late afternoons of contentment,
the softness of twilight,
the warmth of a hand held tight.
The laughter may fade,
but the joy remains,
the light within,
a flicker that refuses to dim.

At sixty, I stand,
a mosaic of years,
each fragment a lesson,
each moment a treasure.
I embrace the shifts,
the gentle sag of time,
and in this embrace,
I find strength anew—
the strength to love, to cherish,
to celebrate every breath,
as I continue this dance,
this beautiful, imperfect,
wonderful life.