The old man without wrinkles
Was playing
Patience
Spreading his cards on the bed
Talking to himself
About his moves
Engrossed in his own world
Of cards and advancing years

People are going and coming
Through his room
Not the least bothered
He is busy with
His outer world
He is not waiting for
The dead end.

When his cataract-operated eyes
Will be tired
He will express his desire
To sit in the veranda

His books and a dictionary
Will be put on the table
And he is seen engrossed
Again cut off from
The outer world
Immersed
In the world of books
Sometimes he would lift up
His head smile and look around
And again go into his self-created world,
Today I read a status on FB
About the legendary cellist,
Pablo Casals who used to practice
At the age of ninety; and beyond

I find similarity between them
Both of them are making progress
In life, defeating despair, it seems
Shutting the dark thoughts
From their inner worlds

Last night
I saw him in my dream playing
Patience and l heard
The distinct strokes of bow on a Cello

And now I woke up
With awe at the way
They were not
Actually waiting
But celebrating!