The dark thins out, the landscape
stirs slowly with hints of life;
the day begins for the old man living
in the house across the road.
The maid rings the bell; rubbing
his sleepy eyes, he opens the door,
lets her in, picks up the news paper,
shuffles back into his empty room.
He helps himself to a cup of tea,
glances over the day’s headlines,
waters the flower pots on the lawn,
plucks a basketful for daily prayer.
By now a flurry inside the house
breaks the stillness: hurried steps,
flush of toilets, jingle of cutlery,
and rustle of laundered clothes.
The morning rush is over; he goes
to the market, makes daily purchases,
gets a handyman for fused tube lights,
leaking taps or broken door-latches.
In between he tries to read a journal,
see TV shows, or listen to old melodies;
but the same refrain rings in his ear:
how can he sit around doing nothing?
A wry smile flashes across his face;
bread earner, then pensioner, now helper,
all merged together, can not guarantee
his long cherished reclining hours.
I can hear the tea on saucer, the sniffle and yawn the morning commotion the day moving on and the pensioner reaction to it all. A nice slice of humanity, brilliant observations.
You have portrayed a realistic picture of an old pensioner, his routine during the day and the mindset he has developed. Read with pleasure. A great piece of poetry. Thanks.
Being a pensioner is the happiest person, because he can get his pension cheque every month regularly... think about the poor souls who do not have such a facility..They are forced to work.. the poem is rhythmic with wonderful morning scenes! ! Thank you Ajay..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sometimes, somewhere, somehow, Even some pensioner's are struggling due their heirs, Where their heirs do not allow pensioners be happy.
I would ask you to read the famous poem 'Children' by Khalil Gibran. Regards, A.K. Das