He tottered past me,
down that long corridor,
lined with metallic green chairs.
A book titled "Freedom from helplessness",
A walking stick; his only two companions.
In a white veshti, with a whiter head of hair,
Frail of health, but sure of eye.
As I waited in a gleaming metallic green chair,
for my painful date with the physiotherapist,
He appeared again.
Too impatient to wait for the lift,
he went for the stairs.
the respect his age commands,
made those around,
request him to sit.
As the elevator doors closed,
and I caught my last glimpse of him,
I couldn't help feeling,
that I had seen through a mirror,
forty years on.
This post and the next ones to follow are an attempt to collate all my poetry written in notebooks, in FB notes and other blogs in to one single place.
This poem literally came to mind while I was waiting for my physiotherapy session this evening at a hospital, and I just typed it out on my phone. I love spontaneous poetry.
Written on Tuesday, March 8, 2011.