On Growing Very Old Poem by Kishore Asthana

This rain is not that rain
The falling leaves are different too
This cool breeze braces no more
This dawn is another dawn, nothing new

The child I was and am still inside
Knows yet the falling drops, the water game
And leaves falling through outstretched hands
Alas, it is all the same, but not at all the same

I am one who slept not till the morn
When each sunrise brought its own truth, its lies
Yes these dawns are not those dawns
So real to my bleaching hair, fading eyes

I am all my life and yet they see
Only this wasted self, this wrinkled face
They think life has passed me by
Their days and mine are not the same days

Those close to me have passed away
And those who are, know me no more
They hear not what I have to say
I am too far from their shore