My Old Age

Crawled back my haggard old age Into a jubilant youth of a man Just past late midnight and asked me What was the wrong did you do? Being baffled and confused I remained silent And kept looking blank for a moment Then I closed my eyes to tell him the truth But I did not as I fear he would not come again To listen to me what is kept unexpressed My young age is like my child Jolly, cherubic and energetic Innocently asks me sometimes What is the wrong with you and mother? I could tell him, easily, the straight truth But I could not, how could I? Rather the right thing would be to say My old age is the product of love of my youthful age.