Why all these striving, hankering,
when you can see
the clear sign of future shape
of things unfolding
in their allotted places
destined by your waning days?
The journey is now downhill
from all that was youthful,
sagacious, vitally sharp
into the valley of sunset.
Fading eyesight, shuffling steps,
clouding of memory
draw the tapestries
of the house you're finally in.
Yet they decorate the room
in the dimming sun light,
keeping the frontal view aglow
till the eve fulfils itself.
A.K. Das