Old Man Walking...

I was told I was born

on a date,

in that month,

years ago.

Don’t really know

it to be true, but

accepted what

was told

and celebrated

year after year after year.

I faintly remember holding

fingers of father and mother

or those who adored me,

in those years of infancy.

I pleasantly recall laying my

hand on those committed warm palms,

who would hold mine with love.

Hugged, cajoled, admired;

I grew up to a naughty child

and then to a hard working youth

with a bit of haughtiness within me,

which diluted when struggles of life

took over and I overtook them without

any aid.

How can I forget getting married

to a beautiful lady years ago, who changed me

from a child to a man with a lot of backing

of culture, love, and heart.

It then was my turn to foster kids,

make them strong and kind enough

to beat the rustic world outside,

with a hope, I wouldn’t need a stick

to support me later.

Years later growing old and shaken

accompanied with squeaky joints and tired body;

I tend to realize I need a walking stick

to help me walk a mile.

Have times shaken so much

that the child who shot me

from behind has had shaky hands;

resulting in a blurred picture,

which does not reflect my

present situation at all.