Catching Old! Poem by Bhaarat Kurda

He fell asleep on his chair,
In the living room in the cold,
When I brought a blanket to cover him,
That's when I saw my father is getting old.

Wrinkles dangling on his face,
His hair turning white,
His youth has bade him goodbye,
So does his weak eye sight.

Now he doesn't stand up in one try,
His face shows pain while doing so,
His legs are not reliable as they were once,
His walk is also getting slow.

The shoulders that carried me around the block once,
The hands he used to beat me with in arm wrestling,
They now get tired with the weight of a grocery bag,
We are not so strong now, is what they are suggesting.

In winter he covers himself with more clothes,
The summer makes him dehydrate often,
During rains he focus on not getting slipped,
Rather than enjoying, the seasons have filled him with caution.

After all these years we spent together,
We saw each other growing in different molds,
He watched me growing a young man,
And I am watching my father getting old.