Carte blanche, the life I’ve been given,
On this day, kindred honor my centenary,
A life well-lived with worthy intentions,
I sowed and reaped luscious fruits!
Yet the captious mind is never at ease,
Melancholia, the prevailing ambience.
Methinks another day nearer the end,
So, I wonder of opportunities missed,
Wasted talent and ambitions unrealised.
And what becomes of my endeared soul,
Once worms had picked every bone clean?
Will it burst out when they bring flowers,
Forging an air redolent of my fertile dust?
How will I react to their silent weep,
And can I bless those who strive to visit?
Regression comes with stiffened joints,
At fourscore, lonely and frail evermore!
In declining years, every sense’s fading,
Organs ache with no apparent incident.
Sight and hearing now intricately linked,
Hence, I yearn for silence to see proper.
Since retirement, erstwhile mates evanish,
Oft barefoot, I wobble the land solo.
My precious spouse has been gone. long,
Now I wonder why the days are so long.
By daybreak, for the evenings I long,
When kinsfolks homeward they bound,
From their hustle, with own tribulations.
Could, would they care when I’m impaired,
And steady my toddle as sinew wrought?