Old Age, Face It Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

I wake up this morning,
Still feeling a little jaded, doddering
Eyes filmy and dull.
And I say, the Lord is my Shepherd.

Old age has a particular knack of being abizarre stage of life.
When you think you are well
And the machine ticking marvelously,
Things begin to go the other way.

So I decided to be a wee bit stoic and robust too.
For however hard I try I will never be in control.
Life has its own inevitable ways to conduct things.
The flowers will bloom
Birds will sing
The coolness of the village cascades will still spray the woodland.

I need to understand the mysteries behind this great mystery.
No river comes back to its fount
Once fallen no flower raise itself back to the bush.

Lost in its youthful vigour
The stream babbles joyously
It singsand frisks
And vaunt, then is gone
Leaving behind all its embellishments to wilt.

So is life,
How beautiful it was when I was young and robust
Full of tickling inspirations
when the tender legs of the baby kick
And the toothless gums smiled.

Then suddenly,
Suddenly the bones begin to wither
There are lines on the face,
Those beautiful petals have fallen.

We forget that
By shaking the tree of life, we do not lose only one fruit,
But a lot more.
It is not me any more
It is not you.

The old villagers say that this is not a tragedy
It is only the way life is
And was
And will be.
A great flash of wisdom.
Live and forget
Forget and live!

So old age could be a wrong note of music
It is still music,
It definitely fits where
And when it is needed!

The small rowdy cemetery down the woodland slope
Have seen a great many tears shed
But it is still there.

I sit there often for quiet
And immerse myself in its immense sunshine and beauty
And in its tender and fragrant blossoms that surround it.
It seems sometimes to tell me
Old age will never cease to come!