! ! Vanaprasthiya Poem by Michael Shepherd

Their grandchild’s silken first hair
brushed with tender love;
their own hair, grey or white or gone;

household handed over to
their son, daughter, or
their spouse; now,

to find again themselves, to be themselves;
free, they walk the morning air of freedom
towards the woods; upon the way,
meet others of their age.

Trees - as every child knows
and old men may remember;
old women see through their own children's eyes -
listen with such silent wisdom,
that among the trees,
all become wise.

And so they, the honoured aged,
meet, acknowledge, greet,
speak as many words as truth may draw;
meditate; then, open eyes and every sense
teach, this is what a temple is;
this is what you are.

Evening stillness; then they return
to the hearth and warmth of family; as
a great grove of ancient, fresh-leafed trees
where in stillness soul meets nature
and finds truth arise.

*

[With thanks to Sunil Bhattacharya for some hints of history]