Too Old to remember
by Chandni Singh
(New Delhi)
Time has fed on me and spat out
a purple veined core of fatigue.
People tell me I am too old
to be alive and
Yet somehow,
I have turned older today.
My mind seems as knotted
as
the gnarled branches of the ancient neem tree
that stands forgotten in the courtyard.
I try hard to trick my thoughts into staying with me
but
age has made my grasp so slippery:
my memory is overoiled and
the details of stories have
smudged themselves into oblivion.
Yesterday, or was it the day before that,
I was leafing through some photographs.
Grinning faces warped
in an almost unbelievable youthfulness
looked back at me.
Me:
the old lady with wasted trembling hands
pale parchment skin
threaded with old veins
like brittle pieces of blue pottery.
I cannot hold onto my thoughts,
oh
did I tell you that already?
So I concentrate on my food,
chewing down each mouthful,
feeling my dentures at work,
up and down:
false teeth and spongy tongue swallow
and
I sit imagining it
slide down my gullet
to the swish of my flatulent gut.
I watch a memory brew its way to me and
I breathe
aching to remember it
again.
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P.S: This was the second prize winner at the Poem contest held in November 2012.