Silver crowns in soft twilight’s hue,
Eyes behind glass still dream in view.
The spine may bow like willows bend,
Yet wisdom walks where youth must end.
Time, the artist, shades with grace—
A quiet triumph on the face.
As Lear once raged against the storm,
We learn to find our softer form.
Gone are the races, the frantic chase,
Now comes the hush—the golden place.
By firelight’s glow, with pages turned,
The soul reflects on truths hard-earned.
Like Ulysses, still we yearn to strive,
“To seek, to find,” to feel alive.
So raise a toast to seasoned days,
To mellow light and gentler ways.
Though bodies yield to time’s decree,
The spirit soars forever free.
Let not the dusk bring fear or dread—
Life’s richest tales are still ahead.
Dr Ritu Kamra Kumar
0 Comments