Dec 29, 2017 Original Poetry
Lighthouse
©December 29th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Once, old age shone like a lighthouse
Beckoning me onward towards
Enlightenment, peace.
Not so, now.
I do not wish to grow frail
I don’t wish to totter and fall
I don’t wish to burden the earth.
I wish to die fit, and full of life.
The anguish of the crumbling bone,
The horror of the throat gone dry,
The pain of loss upon loss
As time unfolds its heartless form –
These are not things I wish to own.
I do not care for youth, either.
Not for me the callous cruelty,
The laughter of those who fail to see
What suffering does, what life makes.
Not for me the agonies of first love,
The self-abnegation, the sudden tempers
Of thwarted desires, the onslaught of tears,
The ambition that rises unchecked.
No, youth and age are not for me.
And yet, when I see my old Pati,
My aging mother, my aging relatives,
My heart quails, grows cold with dread.
I want to keep them close to me,
Hold them so they will not fall,
I want Time to grant them long life,
For I am selfish, and I want to
Bind them forever to my Present.
They are my gifts, my treasure,
The silver threads in the net
Of a life I’m still weaving,
While the boat I’m on tacks, veers,
Towards, and away, from my destination.
And when I cast that net on the waves
It catches a gleam of gold,
As the lighthouse shines on it,
And within the net, a surprised fish,
Its opening mouth, a-gasp,
A whisper of my mortality.
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