Growing Old

What’s hidden beneath that wrinkly façade?
The long hand of time, wrap around you so tight,
Hiding everything that once stood on your surface.
Most of it covered, unrecovered.
Pose a riddle to be deciphered.
It spins so fast in each blink you lose.
It’s not worth fighting.
The more you detach it you bruise.

I have befriended it, my child.
I am him and he is me.
Inseparable. Unthinkable that,
He is the one to put me to rest.
The touch so warm it caresses my arching back,
Caresses my tired limbs,
My sore feet.
Bit by bit he’ll delude me
Until I decay and rot deep.
Then he’ll leave me to sleep.

Oh, I, too, have dreamed, my child.
Once. When, I was unwrapped.
When I was cold and bold I was.
Then I woke in his little grasp.
Innocent little one.
Never knew that,
Here he and I are, now.

So, what’s hidden beneath that wrinkly façade?


-Dessy Farhany


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