Old Man Poem by Prafulla Kumar Panda

As of a desert, is an old man
lately has he so desolate become
only stays in the minds of all,
but is admired by none
like a thirsty bird, all the while,
thirstily he awaits for a shower of affection

the insignificant corner of the room
now has become his comfort zone
where his skinny hands
reach out to none
but to embrace silencenow his sole companion;
with every genuine sob
that echoes into the depth of caves
where his insomniac eyes often meet
the hazy past
now, like a glow-worm, shines before him
soon after it's been cleaned
by a pool of tears nonetheless so genuine

he has not found a cause until post afternoon
to justify his insignificant status
so in the hazy rays of the setting sun
he tries to disentangle
himself from the mire of the great pull

but for a bit of solace and comfort
he surrenders himself
into the Past's embrace
that gathers to him his lost days
which he passionately enjoyed
in his beloved's embrace

a dauntless revelation
when he was brimming in youthful vigour,
praised her graceful shin,
her rosy lips and dimple chin
the night was as graceful as the day
when in her lap, for hours often he lay
and frolicked under the moonlit sky

withdrawing himself from the busy crowd
for hours, lovingly he did listen to the sound
when the tipsy wind was busy with his lyre
and the nightingales glorified love in the air
he played the game like a seasoned lover
until the time of the rising sun
since the cake of time was solely his own.

©Prafulla Panda, India
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