Age is a bastard


Dad with his tennis matches and bent shoulders, rare smile

On his face as the ball hits the racket

Him with his afternoon tea, tired

After a long day of work, seated

On the customary chair in the veranda

Sipping slowly, once in a while

Offering a drop or two to Jeeno wagging his bushy tail

Who laps it up eagerly and then awaits more.

Mother with her cleaning, a hand on her hips

A perpetual scowl on her face complaining that we are pigs

Mother

With her bony legs that had seen better days

Mother

With her shriveled finger tips, shriveled

With years of cooking, years of washing

Years of bringing us up untarnished

Years

Of labor, sweat and toil

Years of tears, years of suffering.

Me

Standing, eyes welling up, with love, with pain

Helpless and knowing

That they are growing old

Wanting to hold them, tell them

that I’l always make their evening cup of tea, that

I’l always oil their joint pains

That I’l always be there for the times

That they stood by, when all the others left.

But I just stood there with the thoughts buzzing by

I just stood there with tears running dry.

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8 Comments on “Age is a bastard”

  1. agreed, smiles.

    Hello: Happy Weekend!

    Write anything coming to your mind based on the image we provide for week 5,
    Share with us.

    Bless you,
    Hope to read your entry.
    Cheers.
    xoxox

  2. Jingle says:

    you are such a caring individual,

  3. A touching poem, full of love. A time we must all face, and we all dread.

  4. Marissa says:

    Lovely poem. Well-written and so poignant!

  5. Awww this is touching and so beautiful. I could really visualize them amazingly done

  6. CC Champagne says:

    You actually have me welling up now! *wiping eyes* Thank you! Lovely poem!

  7. wordcoaster says:

    What a wonderful reminder to tell the ones we love how much they mean to us–you never know when will be too late.

  8. mbwilliams says:

    Wow, such a wonderful poem for parents…Every parent should have a poem like this. When my mother was dying I had time to write her a thank-you poem. I was so lucky to have that opportunity, and this one takes me straight back to those memories. Thank you


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