Old Age, Is it Daunting?

 In the mirror, I see my face in fold,

I know it is a sign I am getting old.

My looks, once vibrant, are not the same,

My skin, once smooth, bears age's grain.

Teeth, like falling leaves, now I find,

If I do not glue to the mirror I don't mind.

My hair, once black like the early dawn,

My forehead is now dusky and brown.

No longer strong as I was in my prime,

Now hard I strive to retain my shine.

But not that bad despite change of looks,

Even now I read and write the books.

Though the outrages of memory have increased,

But the blunders of youth have almost ceased.

With limbs intact and desires young,

I yearn to soar, like songs unsung.

In my toil against the clock's race,

I still succeed to hold my place.

To accomplish the tasks near and far,

I still remain in the readiness of war.

Old age has only added years to my age,

Even a century will not bog down my courage.

For Samrao knows the gains of ripened years,

Also knows what comes and what disappears.