Old Age



Strands of hair turning grey

Every word takes longer to say

Feet can no longer make a step

Her body is nearly out of pep

Faces she can no longer recognize

And names which she cannot memorize.

Her once amusing stories became repetitive

An evident proof that her memory is already inactive.

Her figure, once confident and tall

Became crooked and her shoulders fall

Her delicious recipe, now buried on the pan

Because she can no longer cook nor stand.

I remember when she takes care of her children

When she stays up late and cradles them like heaven

She’s patient, gentle and thoughtful

She’s their first teacher of becoming moral and faithful.

I remember when she works at night

Just to finish sewing the dresses with all her might

In her mind says she’s already tired

But in her heart reads she should do what is required.

I remember how she saves every penny

Together with her husband, they work fully

To give their children education

So they’ll have better lives in future’s creation.

The sacrifices she made and countless hardships endured

She survived it all because she’s good.

She dedicated her life for her family

Her family, that makes her world lively.

I surely miss her jolly mood

The time when people visit her just to feel good.

I surely miss her witty talks

The moment when she speaks for her folks.

I surely miss her Christmas gifts

When she says, “My grandchildren are all my favorites.”

I surely miss the wonderful taste

Of her cookings, unworthy to waste.

She surely misses all the gatherings

When all her children are beaming

A family united by unselfish loving

A love shared by the woman who never stops caring.

Now I see her from her open window

Her old age brought her away from the flow.

The world revolves and seems to forget a corner

Where she sits unnoticed and no one remembers.

As I look at her, I came to ponder

Does her old age mean “Do not bother,

I am old useless and much of a nagger

So go on with your lives and forget that I’m your mother.”

Here’s the question that needs an answer:

“How come my family has forgotten about their mother?”

Time is running, death is closer

Don’t wait for the end, it’s time to remember.

—- I wrote this last Mother’s Day (I believe that was 2013 or 2012) while I was sitting infront of my grandmother’s house. Too bad she didn’t know that it was her day being a mother. Too bad. You know what I mean. I know the poem has many errors but I’d like to convey a very painful message. Someday when I sit infront of my open window, I wish my children or anybody will still look at me and will make my remaining days memorable despite of my demented memory.


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