Growing Old Poem by Anindita Bose

We all are there, we are
walking through that road

white hairs show up, the bed
calls us more

we are tired or lack the
energy, yet a desire to burn
in life's essence pull our
strings

we keep walking, slow and in
a silent meditation

sometimes we look at each
other with no reactions since
deep within we all know our
outer shells are growing old.

We gain years on earth,
we experience life,
we learn about illusions,
and wisdom wraps us in the
golden light...

yet millions of us live the
same kind of life, we know
and we deny that we are
aging

we keep dreaming of better
days, we hope that situations
will change

time elapses, and we keep
growing old: wrinkled skin,
weak eyesight, slow pace
and diseases, sometimes a
series of hospital-visits.

An open window, wide eyes
looking out in hope to see
the horizon. The flying wings,
the blue dreams and the
warm sunshine. Memories of
childhood.

Two strings binding the
the eternal path of a journey
that brings the souls to
witness the circles of birth,
life, death and the spiritual
transcendence.