WHEN WE BECOME OLD
BY sPROF GHULAM MOHYUDDIN WANI
An old man is thought to be wise,as he is less emotional and has a practical despansation of the problems.Some say they become timid some say they are timid.I know a few who are a mixture of the two .The story described below in a prosic format is a true story of an honest and dedicated professsor.He worked hard in his life and always preached and practiced truth.He helped all non remembered his helping nature and gesture.He had many friends and foes.Foes born out of jeleosey of him being honest,truthfull and straight forward .Friends used him but never cared to help him.His old age is an golden age.He is no more under tension of foes or friends.He still helps the needy but not with out knowing them.He has sweet memories of an friend who deserted him for the fear of being teased.
He helped all in he hour of need.The very friends who used to say he is dera and number two in thier life have never cared answer his calls.Untill they needed his recommendatios.The world of deciet and the greed is finelt described in subbtile words.This is a remnder to those who call them selves sweet but turn to be sour.I saw a lookuppage search for the mohy poetry ,the love in the poemic format has been cretaed to remember and revisit the memories of our old days togetheler but still miles apart.
The poem dedicated to the sweet memoris
When we grow old
People call us gold
I say no we are sold
To chance and mold
True we too were young
Have all those melodies sung
All that past mary and fun
Makes us to ponder and repent
When we open our old album
We see face so cute and young
Innoscent look with eagles eyes
Dark hair like a black night
Have I lost me in the world of deceit
Fine words,smiling lips born to cheat
Is she grey like the ripen hay ,
Or still the old young and fray,
I can not call her still gay,
She has left her smile at bay,
Deep in the sea I saw her jump
God knows when and where she rose
Or she is still buried underneath,
Mud ,dump not gay,
I still sit on the window pan
To see her return as a gain
Old may be my aging parts,
emotions and love is still fresh.
yes yesterday we were in lonely room,
free of dust and gloom.
your smiling lips
like petals of rose,
your dark and shy eyebrows.
still fresh in my dreams
what is not heard are your screams.
That cry of anguish in the science room,
the oneness of belonging in the dara doom
The vomiting episode of Gulmarg boom
little tears near the library home
still fish out of water in the desert dome
I live by them who says old forget ,nay we remember all those days or live by them or their dreams
