Sexagenarian

Dont remember when i wrote this, but somewhere in my teens.........

Little birds chirped,
along the ole ally,
a man, sexagenarian,
sat under a papaya tree.

His hand crumbled,
years of work,
none that saved,
his state still suffers.

His hand wet the soil,
sweat and water,
can't discriminate,
yet he kept going.

The small clan,
of neighbouring village boys,
zoomed past him,
sped like a rocket,

His eyes trying,
but in vain,
trace the faces,
of youth in them.

He waited, kept waiting,
all day along,
his stomach ailed,
none approached it.

He dreamt of a penny,
to fill his tummy,
But almighty, hesitated,
maybe time to go.

Cycles sped, and there alas,
chain came off,
his mouth spread,
grin enlarged.

He held his stick,
in air so high,
none other than Hitler,
might have felt, after the war,

He crippled, but stood,
firm, his dignity untouched,
always lived on his own,
yet forgot, he was all alone.

He marched to the cycle,
stooped and picked it,
checked the chain,
alarmed, nothing to repair,

Put the chain back,
and then, a grin broadened,
he smiled, demanded a penny,
boy shocked, said 'no money'

His mouth opened, jaw fallen,
didn't say a word, turned,
walked silently,
back to the place where he boarded.

Tears tumbled,
been ages, ages,
since he earned,
yet he kept going.

Kept gazing, gazing at large,
waiting for something,
good at last did happen,
he lost a breath.

His sins forgiven,
His deeds pardoned,
His life blessed,
He, at large carried away,

His worries past him,
he joyously bid ,
farewell,
to this agonizing world.

His prayers answered,
kept nears and sorrows,
at bay, without being sorry,
he bid goodbye.