Senior Citizens

There were days when I thought:
Companionship meant to walk and talk
In confidence, with someone,
Down unknown paths, across which a sudden
Gust of dust would pass, disheveling curls;
or
Speechlessly listen to the footfall
On crispy leaves;
At times clasping hands; at times just leaning
In casual candour;
Smiling out inner happiness
Or removing a wisp of dandruff
From the other’s collar;
Or flicking a speck of something from the dress;
Sometimes humming a favourite number,
Or promising to standby
In rain and drought;
Yes, how oft I thought,
Perhaps more oft than not,
But now………….?
What to recall and whom to say
And what's there to say?
Except to vacantly stare at the crumbling pages
Of books on dusty shelves,
Or shining shoes in anticipation
For someone’s tea invitation;
Or standing at the balcony and watching
The world move by,
Trying to recognize a face or two
Of those innocent kids,
Who have grown up and learnt:
The art of ignoring elders;
Which I cleverly console
Is due to shortage of time;
After all,
Who am I for them?
Who have no time
Even for their parents,
Who half-dozed but with full hope
Still wait for them,
In endless patience,
With their ears stuck to the call-bell,
And their faint eyes to the door;
Until another day dawns,
From one year to another,
Till the earth beckons them
To change their address
And rest in peace,
To make place
For someone else.