The Vanity Poem by Saratchandra Sahoo

There is a time
coming ahead of you,
in the not too distant future,
when your face
will have an unlovely pallor.

All your palmy days
will grimace at
your sunken cheeks,
grey hair, wrinkled skin
the springy step
will no longer have a spring;
rosy blushes flushing
your cheeks
will be a thing of the past,
and you won’t look
larger than life.

Every split second past
spent in gay abandon
begins to pall on you.

Only then will you be consumed
by the still small voice
only to regret rejecting
the entry of a gem of a person
into your soul’s sanctuary.