The Old Man.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

there is this garden that you tend
you put the seeds and they all sprout in time
time waters it
the changes take place
soon the flowers bloom and
you watch all these
with patience
there is this light feeling that comes
like butterfly wings
white against the dusk

there is nothing new in that garden
you are sick and takes the rest
you sit by the window
the same window all these 50 years
time is you boring attendant
independent from your grasp
it can exist without you

you sit and watch the world passing by
like a flower slowly unfolding
and you never notice it
you go out
you have recovered from a disease
you
take a walk
visit some friends
come back in the afternoon
you watch the view from the window
again
this you do perhaps for another 50 years
of your life
setting aside fears of not having to
step upon 60
life is short for those who have no one to love

it is the same field same mountain
bald and brown
same clouds
pale blue and drifting
same fog
fading like a magical show

same window
that you close again
because it is dark
and cold inside
your old wooden bed
that you have
inherited from your
forefathers

as usual
you take your sleep
time passes you by
the room is so silent
as though
it is the home for
the dead