Old age is not being
young but look at its luxuriant tree
where its fruits have ripened
and its leaves are still as green
it's the same breeze as of old
blowing above its head
and the sky is as blue
and bird-songs by night
are still as sweet
as reminders
that all life is wrapped in rapture
and earth has not lost its pristine  music and grandeur

each stage of life has its  untold splendour
only that the heart must feel and embrace love
and the mind be free and hasn't given up
in despondency (I've had enough of this chagrin-
drop that line)
say instead--
I love life and its endless beauty
I would still bathe in its sea of wondrous delight
I would bask under the sun amidst the dancing flowers
have conversation with the moon and stars late at night
I would still sing the songs I love
and give life to my violin- lest it thinks I have lost faith-
with my shaky hands I would write a poem or two-
never mind if they are frowned upon by others
I would still smile despite the wrinkles on my face
and my grey hair so conspicuous to the eye
I would share in the laughter of youth
among the middle-aged mingle
and with those in my twilight years
laugh at the folly and pride of my early days
and hear their stories spoken
with slow and subdued voices
but no less poignant

I am alive and not left behind
I am there in the arena of life
though not as a player
but  only a spectator

if you do see a silent tear
dropping from my eyes
just know-
it's the tear of gratitude and joy