Old Age Poem by Subrata Ray

Old Age



Loneliness.

The desolation of the room,
The standstill Summer's sweat,
The moan of the deprecated memory,
In the fossils of adolescence and youth,
When crowd around your nowhere signal,
And the ghosts of bed-soaked arms,
Stare oblique irony at your unimportance,
You feel the beguiles of mirage with no oasis.

No resource to buy oil,
No pump agrees to supply,
The threshold waits to bid you the goodbye.

Saturday, April 9, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: old age
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Ray Subrata Ray 09 April 2016

Yes, -the vacation of mundane pilgrimage is seen with yellow leaves

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Rajnish Manga 09 April 2016

Very rightly and idiomatically the truth of old age is put across when our past is fossilised and nobody around us likes to spare a thought or two for us. Thanks. I quote a few lines: Stare oblique irony at your unimportance, You feel the beguiles of mirage with no oasis.

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Subrata Ray

Subrata Ray

Formerly East Pahistan
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