Diary of a Septuagenarian

I am a dignified Septuagenarian, not a bit apologetic for my age,

It is an accomplishment you know to have reached this stage!

I am not at all decrepit, disoriented or a doddering dud,

I am vivacious, I am animated, with no activity debarred.

Is it considered a misdemeanor or some idiosyncrasy

Beyond the limits of social, civilized norms of decency,

Whilst conversing, if a furtive snooze I quickly take?

 At ten in the night, it is an ordeal to keep awake!

“It’s wonderful to have met you,” greets effusively a passer-by,

Embarrassed, I’m speechless, for my memory is rusted and dry.

But nonchalantly I smile and with a confident air I promptly reply

“Same here, happy meeting you,” covering up instantly with a lie.

 Why do I avoid the stairs and rather opt for the lift?!

  Walk or climb I can sprightly which is a God-given gift,

 But hush! I feel a trespassing pain going up my spine—

   I try my best to shrug it off- I pre

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tend that I am fine.

The food looks so scrumptious; I eye the mutton steak,

But what of the tooth which occasionally did shake?!

I have to look the other way, and select a softer fare,

 But life is still splendid, and can be without a care!

My friend called me up to inform that George was dead,

I, hard of hearing, unfortunately, heard ‘ John’ instead,

There was a deluge of tears for the dead and gone,

Till John materialized at the door—with no harm done!

I am myopic, blurry-eyed, and have a sneaking cataract,

It does not worry me, and never has, and that is a fact.

With a show of bravado, I had caught a mid-night thief,

Alas, that was my son-in-law—that’s how I came to grief!

I am happy for the years that have successfully gone by.

 But being apprehensive for the future, I positively must try

 To make the best of my life, maybe not cent percent right.

 We are sure to succeed if we can put up a resolute fight.