Mamta Agarwal - ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! Is it always too late! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Cold wind knocking on the door,
Old shrivelled man on the floor.

Ashamed, lost control over bladder.
Broken, fell from the ladder.

Who knows its pain or melancholy
Over the absence of progeny.

Overcome with impotent rage
Who said its golden age?

Trembles with loud paroxysms
Why I could have kept a nurse.

With the hard earned money spent
On raising kids; late to repent.

Spent, looked up shocked
Spouse watching with a stoic look

The shelves filled with favourite books
He loved reading to his kids and quote.

No health, wealth, poor eyesight.
Lessons ignored on hindsight…

His son had brought a gift,
A book' Tuesday with Morrie.'

He recalled the last message;
Can one live on regrets?

Doesn't help when you get this far,
Make peace, forgive yourself and others.

Its too much, this tension of opposites
Why dwell on withdrawals, not on deposits?

He cried softly, face wet with tears,
Said to his wife, give me a hand dear.

motivated to write this on hearing the plight of my Uncle now 90. senior citizens are really marginalised. their condition is pathetic to say the least



Tuesday with Morrie, a book by Mitch Albom.

Mamta Agarwal

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/is-it-always-too-late/