Stop right there,
Right at the door,
Right in your tracks,
Stay yet, your feverish hands.
I dread the aching bones
The faltering step,
The halting breath,
The falling teeth,
The memory loss,
Being the hospital’s dross.
Most of all I dread
A wrinkling face,
The sinking eye,
A shriveling skin,
A timorous voice.
But age draws near…
His fangs eager…
Oh! The savage plundering rampage,
The cruel ravage of my vestigial youth,
Drawn out to the last embers…
Sacrilege!
About the Author
Dr. Bhuvaneshwari Shankar
Member Since: 07 May, 2014
I have a long association with English Language, it's literature and teaching, with a doctoral degree in Literature from Osmania University, and a Diploma in ELT from EFLU. There was a break in my studies due to an early marriage but I returned t...
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