He fell asleep in his chair,
in the living room when it was cold.
When I brought a blanket to cover him,
I realised my father is getting old.
Wrinkles on his face,
his hair turning white.
Youth bade him goodbye,
so did his eye sight.
Now, he doesn’t stand up in one try,
his face shows pain while doing so.
Legs not reliable as they once were,
his walk is also getting slow.
The shoulders that carried me around the block;
the hands that beat me at arm wrestling,
Get tired with the weight of grocery bags,
“Not so strong now”, is what they are suggesting.
Winters make him cover himself more,
summers make him parched often.
He focuses on not slipping in the rains,
rather than enjoying, he is filled with caution.
After all these years we spent together,
we saw each other growing in different moulds.
He watched me grow into a young man,
and I am watching him grow old.
Bhaarat Kurda | PGDM 2017-19