Old Age

I will be so sad to become old,
To come out of the precious age like gold,

Today or tomorrow, it is a coming doom,
Thinking about which sits on me a gloom.

By becoming old I will have white hair,
Which looking in the mirror I will not bear.

I will have wrinkles all over my face,
I will have a walking stick to walk a pace.

While walking I would fold,
I will shiver as if I feel cold.

I will not be able to have a long walk,
I love to open the “knot of my heart” by a talk.

When someone speaks, I will not hear,
Till they come to me and shout in my ear.

Not being able to wear colourful cloths,
I would dislike it as every lady loathes.

I will miss my youthful days,
While going on in my old ways.

(20. March.2006, Islamabad)