The Evening

Why all these striving, hankering,

when you can see

the clear sign of future shape

of things unfolding

in their allotted places

destined by your waning days?

The journey is now downhill

from all that was youthful,

sagacious, vitally sharp

into the valley of sunset.

Fading eyesight, shuffling steps,

clouding of memory

draw the tapestries

of the house you’re finally in.

Yet they decorate the room

in the dimming sun light,

keeping the frontal view aglow

till the eve fulfils itself.

A.K. Das