It is a life where seniority comes on the way,
Senior citizens are like headlines of the journey,
And before its course begins, one knocks one’s rights,
And when age grows, passage of long way gives
Stony thrust, black hair turns like white grass
Then comes burns like the sun of the day that turns white,
Then comes sense of alertness, the kids are far away
From this age of tranquility and solvency, those are
Cool winds in summer, measured in experience,
And this is once narrated by one of friends, who has
Only option to live at a place where none is there
To put blockade on mind’s journey, and he wants
To live alone if a free minded person is not found.
He wants to walk with walks of his wife and kids,
He wants to smell wet-smelling of soil, in rain,
Still he is searching a place where this crazy-steaming ends.