I know you will grow senile like me, very soon.

Maybe you will regret

because of the bad beginnings, and

elusive endings or maybe not.

But you cannot

undo what has already been done.

You will be lonely,

okay let’s be lenient on you,

at least your manias and phobias will be with you.

The tears will rush from the aisle

of your wrinkled face to the trembling hand.

Those trembling hands, unknowingly, sometimes

will reach near to the heart and ask:

“Am I still alive?”

“You still live there?”

You will never hear any answers, let alone positive answers.

You will only feel a mediocre heartbeat–sometimes,

not more than that.

Your hair, touched by the soul of the icy

snow, will shiver and then sparkle whiter than ever.

Your tattered stomach begging for

morsels of friendship will be filled–

only with past deeds–

and not more than that.


You will sit, lonely, on a bench—

wet by the morning dew

or maybe the tears of the person just like you.

You will play a puzzle game-of-memories

which you have never won and will never win too.

The tangent to reach to the concrete images

will disappear on the way.

You will cry. Clamor. Curse.

But nobody will ever hear you,

because nobody has reached where you are

or they have already crossed where you are.

Throughout the day, you will roam

from the clouds to the rivers, from the sun

to the woods like a cotton drifting in the void.

First, you would tease them and at the end of the day,

you will feel jealous of them;

of their freedom.

You would see mundane creatures, coming

towards you.

You, because of doubt and fear, will hide behind you!

And in the heart of the night,

again you will wail in pain;

start banging your head on the walls

because there won’t be any dream in your sleep,

say, not even a smirk of nightmares.

What will you do then?

–Rozesh Gautam