Nothing much left to say.
When you're very much old and grey.

Wrinkled skin and powered glass.
Abandoned by the favored mass.

Memories of the bygone days.
Treasured in a glittering phase.

Along with tears, a drop or two.
All in blurry and fading hue.

Await kind words and a smile.
With gratitude more and concern while.

Nothing to expect, just to flow.
Time to bid adieu although.

Last days be a gracious one.
Crucial help from self but none.

More of comfort and less surmise.
Let the end be a prompt surprise.


© Anindita Mazumdar
(Honorable Mention Female Poet)