Growing Poem by Marwa Rakha

In the dim light of the room I caught your eyes
wandering in my face;
feeling the fine lines that are bound to sink deeper.
Yes I will have wrinkles.
I am not growing any younger.

Under the faint light our silent still eyes met,
you saw four or five white hairs that sprung on top of my crown.
Why were you surprised?
I am almost a fortnight in years older than your tender years.
I am not growing any younger.

Your face turned to face mine,
but the look in your eyes was different;
instead of searching my soul for answers,
they raised reckless question marks.
I am not growing any younger.

Your face moved closer to mine;
I turned my face away.
I am growing wiser.