Residues Of Life

An Old man in the queue,

Waited for his turn.

Time was ticking hard

But he yet serene and stern.

He knew these shadows,

Amidst which he moved,

Every wrinkle was its virtue

And wisdom was the only residue.

He knew Life is a game

of those destined cards.

Whether next would be of his name

Or just another one in hands.

For him, love was piece of solace,

For which he once desired to breathe,

But then it faded without trace,

And his heart smothered underneath.

But a light and a dark,

Together made his day,

And Smile as his companion

Never betrayed him anyway.

He turned sometimes back

To look how far he walked,

His eyes were amazed,

For How well he trudged.

now soon it will be his turn,

in this inevitable queue.

yes, he lived, loved and lied

these residues of life would never die…