AN OLD MAN'S EPISTLE TO A YOUNG LADY

 

                                   " I have suddenly turned a-grey
                                The dark clouds turned to silver spray
                                Time did not give me time to count
                                She gave herself unasked an account 
       
                                Of change to be paid on the spot ;
                                No dithering, an injunction hot ;
                                No further appeal : you smile, I think
                                If I say that my passions, not a wink

                                Have downed, though age did steal a bit
                                My buoyant mirth and nimble wit ;
                                Time's drift we know not : a rift
                                Thin as a thread will turn so swift

                                A wider chasm to shake our dreams
                                A gushing stream that will not scream           
                                No use, we have to pay, no other way
                                No use to whine, or weep, but to obey ;

                                Our debts with her should be paid off
                                We can't deceive, rebel or scoff ;
                                Whether you bite your wedding cake
                                Or wrap yourself in mourning make ;

                               The scum of youth will fly before your gaze:
                               To touch the dregs of precipitant age ;
                               We are trapped birds of time, you know
                               No use of flirting ; this world, a changing show.
                      



 



                                                      
                           




  11th September, 2016                                           Somaseshu Gutala