WHEELCHAIRED GUARDIAN OF THE PAST

 

Luminescent sparkles slice through sky, 

The infirm old man let out loud sigh,

Away from the flow of ecstatic liveliness,

A caricature on wheelchair in loneliness

He ran his fingers over his unshaven face,

Wrinkled,  it has lost its glow and grace,

The hands once strong are now limp,

Discolored patches on skin like a shrimp.

Fierce when he was in his prime,

It was indeed his golden time,

Now broken and crushed with age,

Nearing his life book's last page.

His hands tremble and shake,

His back always aches,

His voice inconsistent and slow,

No teeth to chew and swallow.

But he is the guardian of the past,

The legacy he created will surely last,

With sweat,tears and determination,

He built a strong foundation.

When people get old,

They leave behind  years gold,

His eyes glowed with satisfaction,

A smile writ on his face as reaction.

© K.Radhakrishnan