Old Is To Sold Poem by Azitej Anand

Whenever I am there on the way to the Old Age Home,
I stuck to see youth there, with two hands rubbing their own blood,
One hand stretched the skin, that the upward way to overlap wrinkled flesh;
Words on the lips, from one side-
' Promise I am here after some days', ;
To revert as it seems
Eyes to hear, lips scramble to taste the tears of ownership.
Promise reverted with close end -
'No son,
Sorry,
Take me back..'

Eyes still gleaming with tears-
Every day, with same quest, to see their own blood to take them back to walls,
Of where, they replaced the Name Plate…
When Eyes lost each last breath of coming to take back,
Neuron start assembling down to hold the life gear,
But it is the last phase of life's beginning,
To understand what that never taught by anyone;
With last hope, the flame gets spark off,
Dead as named by Stretched skin, to keep a promise conjured up,
To prove the radiance of relation-
That is-
' Time always sets its wheel to prove
This radiance, It's for me, same for you in the next gear'…