Woes of the old continue.
Desires shrinking, fear looming,
The old ones are left to themselves.
The old are not heard when they moan
Unlike children whose cries are answered.
Isolation torchers the old.
Humiliations maim the old.
Neglects are borne without murmur.
Body-pains are born without anger.
I did not know till I grew old
How my grandpa felt his old age
And how my parents felt their woes.
My progeny don’t know my sores.
Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.'s Other Poems
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