The Old Man in the Winter
K. Radhakumar *
It's freezing cold
And it makes him feel weak.
A very old man he is
With a wrinkled face.
His small eyes
And shapeless mouth are surrounded by
Many, many wrinkles.
And these stand out in his small face.
It is brass monkeys
And the old man looks like a monkey
An ugly animal
Grown old beyond its time.
He lies propped up on cushions
Thinking of the past
Of his dead wife and friends
And trying to enjoy
The remnant of the afternoon sun.
It won't be long
Before the sun sets.
It's high time, he feels,
To get ready for the warm and cosy room.
The room in the dark is a great consolation now
Since the old world died with his friends.
Part of him also died with his wife.
Who knows this may be my last winter,
The old man murmurs.
Nobody bothers about him
Not even his own children;
Nobody listens to him
And perhaps he does not expect
Other people to listen to him.
Who cares to see poetry in all his gestures?
The old man talks to himself.
He talks nonsense, thinks his grandson.
The old man's poetry is nonsense
Complete nonsense to the moderns
His own flesh and blood.
* Poem written by K. Radhakumar which was published at The Sangai Express
This poem was webcasted on November 10, 2018.
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