#oldpeople
An eighty-year-old child,
with cataract eyes,
like frosted windows
that still sparkle
from all the suns they’ve seen.
Wrinkles ripple across the skin
like rings of an ancient tree,
each line a story,
each fold a season survived.
We, lost in shadows of our minds,
call it depression, call it anxiety,
yet they hold storms in silence,
smiling as though pain
were just another passing guest.
Their steps may falter,
but their roots run deeper;
their laughter may sound foolish,
but it carries the weight of wisdom
we have yet to grow into.
Time has slowed their bodies,
but sharpened their souls.
We are young,
and still, somehow,
far behind them.
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 4:20 AM UTC
Plush cushions for a wood green hut
Indigent, arrogance, and Omniscience
Learned counterpart owned the seats
Grey, humble, Shamen
Pure fear, unmoving in his discourse
Pure love, uplifting in his seat
Time calls for action. Was he willing?
Yes--preparation inside the wood tree hut.
Inside the young man’s mouth
Chewed a taste of bubble gum worn out
For one hour they waited
Sitting comfortably, and waited
Blood Red skinned Demons peel off the roof
Razor Talons swinging
Razor Talons scratching at our young man’s head.
Our shamen waits, unmoving, calming, and encouraging
Inside his breath was a spell.
To calm, and quell any foe.
A cool breath froze the winged ********
Sending them back to where they came
Time passes
A mind now healed like a band-aid covering a wound
His mind was pulled closer.
Our young man returned his eyes to the wood green hut
Seeing the old man, smiling for his own part
A street-wide smile was sent back
Leaving the seat he thanked him with complete
Love for each other, and all mankind
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 8:18 AM UTC
Dear Granny,
I saw someone
a week ago,
In the streets
on my way back home..
Her wrinkled skin burnt by the Sun
Her attire frayed and patched with dust
An empty oil can of crumpled tin
A humble sum peeks shyly from within
Her hand stretched, a cup formed from her palms
It shakes too furiously to beg for alms
She speaks a language alien to me
Yet her eyes tell me a universal story
A tale of a debt that was never paid
Kindness was dealt a hand of apathy instead
And the care with which a seedling grows
Was not returned as winter crept close
Because fall came and went, and the old leaves are spent
Shed across the city streets, with none to speak for the dead
Like the world around me I know not
why I should care
Her face is that of a stranger to me
Yet I keep waking up
on account of these dreams
A similar picture, a similar scene
And at the heart of it
The face is yours,
Granny.
Love,
Soham
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 2:43 PM UTC
Growing up is realizing that most everyone never means what they say,
it's the proof that no one actually loves nor cares for you,
but the things you can provide them with and serve to them.
Growing up is seeing how complicated and mischievous the world really is in the reality we live,
it's noticing the pieces fitting together in a ****** off puzzle no one pays any mind to figure out,
wondering through streets and transparency of all whom fill them.
Growing up is publishing the truth and the mighty glory it with holds,
it's figuring out what no one really cares to perceive in honesty.
Growing up is having your heart broken by those who once promised to put it back together and never having them back as you thought it was before because, you see through it all, through than and the faults.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
My heart melts, every time I look at you.
You can make me feel happy and blue.
You are leaving me many questions,
and it affects my emotions.
I want to ask you untold things.
Something that you can give meanings.
Despite that, I don't know where to start.
Because I have this hesitating heart.
The length of our life has a big gap.
Please tell me, is growing up a huge trap?
You had this strong body before,
but now you are weak- looking poor.
Are you ready to face the end?
Is there something you want to mend?
Did you find the meaning of life?
Was there a thing that you didn't strive?
After some years, I will be in your place,
though it isn't sure yet, I'm carried by His grace.
Even to your old age, you inspire me.
I see you as a person, stronger than a tree.
I may not know you or the things you did,
but here is a poem for you I bid.
I hope you find the things you are looking for.
Just remember, great things can be found in our Creator.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC