Our Old Man Poem by Tony Adah

Our Old Man



In the façade
He sat on a chair of wisdom
Furrows rill with sweat
On the sagging cheeks like streams
Down the mountain slope;
Age is speaking loud
In the nervous hands
And the hair on the head and the
Beard and the moustache white
Like snow on the mountain top.

He hardly walk
He seldom speak
That strength of the early morning
Wanes and the old lion feeds
On the crawling snails.

He retches phlegm from his throat
And spit it near his shining shins
That is the reason why we do not
Go near our old man
Who caused our father to cause us
Come to the troubled world.

We laugh at his toddling walk
And taunt his broken voice
Little thinking we are running
Into the same state
Of wobbly walk and our heads
Wearing white coxcombs too
Like snow on the mountain top.

Monday, August 22, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: age
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