‘Hell.
I don’t know why I am plagued
With such tiredness’.
The poet remarked to a
Petite lady
With white hair and lively eyes.
‘We all feel the same’.
She replied.
‘OK: I never could imagine
How I would feel at an age
Of eighty
But I recall now my childhood
Quite vividly’.
‘Yes’. She said. ‘The same with
Me. The middle part of life
Has left no awareness of it
As if it never happened’.
She said.
‘I guess’ – the poet mused –
‘It is buried below the ballast
Of an active life
Earning a living and chasing
The stars of one’s desire’.
She smiled. ‘Indeed’.
Wishing each other a good day
We parted.
I’m on my own feet
Which still carry me
She with her rollator.
The petite lady with white hair.
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’19.