When We Grow Old

It's true that one day we'll grow old Maybe we'd be like pack of cigarettes Stashed near the cupboard Laying near the broomstick Bundled together with worn-out ropes Like cables that are patched with tapes Walking around with sticks long laden with thoughts Accumulated for ages and Sun-beaten Maybe we'd be tan already from life's sun-heat Or Wed feel like old locks whose keys have been lost They say we might be like cupboards with worn hinges Or broken bottles on dumpsites Or maybe we'd be like car garages With old tools laying around Or bolts whose turns have gone out of turns What they say seem to scare me That being old isn't much of a blessing as we'd thought Should I stay and grow stricken in age What if feebleness sets in? Would this life still be meaningful to me? Oh! What if life is as beautiful as a blossoming tree Like nocturnal flowers by the river side What a sight in site that would be Yes, I'd love that; growing old would be Meaningful