Now It Is Too Late

Not many tensions, Nor any excitement Life has ever been A placidly flowing river! Single and free! Over differences, Never been any disputes Never had to consult, Nor seek consent Single and free! But doesn’t his house With that cold, mildewed air Reflect his heart? A house so full of things: A hoard of well stacked books, Exquisitely carved Victorian furniture, Antique collection of curios, Ornate drapery Yet so full of nothing! The prim order of the house Never disturbed by naughty hands Nor shuffled by dusty feet Dirtying the Persian carpets Or smudging the glistening floor The well laid bed covers Never get creased By the body’s desire And Love’s tight embrace And never, they bear The fragrance of a female scent! Sometimes he would shake From foot to crown At a question hurled by An unknown voice; “Did you squander away your life? ” Then he recognizes…. He has been a lone traveler Ever walking through A one way lane That will wind off With a few more steps! If, by chance somewhere A new track Branches out He would no more be A solitary tramp! There would be a companion To hold hands! Now it is too late!