Old Man Alone Poem by maas weerabangsa

OLD MAN ALONE

He walks stooped, his clothes in tatters,
He has passed caring, for him nothing matters;
He knows in truth, he is young no more,
He is alone, certainly a man of yore.

Dwelling in a shack, away from the din,
Cares no more, for this world full of sin;
Never yielding, till he enters the grave,
This old man, alone, so bold and brave.

As this old man hobbles along,
Humming a tune from an age old song;
Seeing a courting couple on his way,
His thoughts stray to his youthful day.

He'd listened music and many a sounds he'd heard,
They were sweet to the ear, the wind, the trees and birds;
As a youth he too sang traversing many a hill,
His heart cries, with youthful hunger still.

He'd witnessed the morning dew and fields green,
Bright and luxuriant the beauty of it he'd oft seen;
The stars bright, on this moonlit night,
His soul laments and longs for its distant light.

His thoughts torment him as his sense survive,
Only a thread of breath keeps him barely alive;
Could his maker mercifully hear him say,
Brighten my nights and hide my day.

He rests in a park to relax a little,
As his cigar stub burns to a whittle;
Little kids he sees, playing with no care,
In the shade of a tree, he spots a cuddling pair.

He ambles along to his shack on his lonesome way,
Once more sees the luxuriant paddy fields sway;
As the life of this lonely old man hither,
A time will come for the fields to wither.

As if by fate he comes to a vacant lot,
Countless numbers are buried in this spot;
Reclining on a tombstone the old man weep,
As death claims the lonesome old man in his sleep.