Age

Observed a very old lady walking past me with the help of her wooden staff and the following words automatically flowed:

"This thing
Stands starkly
At my face
And laughs hard.
What makes it so blunt?
The thing grins back
Strikingly to my silver hair.
Then I recollect that
Time has put me down.
My possessions
And my adventures
Have worn out.
My tricks & talents
Ain't free anymore.
The thing looks at me
With grief & pity
And mocks at
My empty existence.
This thing sets
Puppets to
The best of my ability.

This thing
Has forced a change
To the color
And texture
Of my skin,
From smooth to creased.
It has diminished
The vision of my eyes,
From clear to hazy.
I can no longer see
Through my imagination.
The thing has damped
The layers of sight
And of ideas.
This thing has
Limited my limitless soul
To mediocrity.

This thing brings me
Closer to the truth,
To the inevitable reality.
It doesn't stop a second
Its process of decaying
The young to the eld.
This thing is called "Age"
And it wears people down.

And the moments
Of youth merely
Lingers long in mind.
Limitlessness of vigor,
All the dynamic energy
Folds itself to go away.
Shivering bones & limbs
Take over the course.
Time may heal
A painful heart,
But it cannot cure
The sufferings of aging."

 -- Praveen Kumar Singhmar.

#Poetry #OldAge #NewPoem #OldLady #Literature #LifeFacts #TheTruth

What's Your True Calling?

And it's all about what your true calling in life is. What is it on earth that makes your knees go weak? Where does your innermost interest lie?

After a long span of seven years, when I once again entered the English Literature class, the very first minute I knew that this was where I belonged. That I should never have gone for anything else, should not even have thought of doing something else. That I had been wandering clueless, aimlessly for seven long years and that nothing brought inner peace.

Such similar realization came once again when I entered a huge library full of books on literature. There, standing alone, amongst numerous books around, nothing but books, thousands of them, a sudden realization struck me. I found that I could spend my entire life there and I would not regret a single moment of it. And that I did not want anything else from life.

Literature. Library. Books.

"Literature" is like a very sensuous and beautiful woman who turns me on every single time I think or talk about it (her). I don't consider "literature" to be merely a subject of study. It is a living thing for me, warm and affectionate, and I find peace in her. I talk to her, I feel her, I sniff her through the old books in the old silent library. This library with books on literature is very quite and calm in her composure. Yet, she talks back as I read her. She speaks out loud. It's wonderful to be with her. It's soothing. Time stops. All I want to do is pick out the old books, sit and read them one by one, line by line, word by word, letter by letter. I wanna absorb all that they have into myself. They complete my being.