One day they’ll come and say, “your dear father's passed away”, and in the quiet you’ll dwell on the old man you knew so well.
I was young not so long back.
I was young when you were born. I was young when in the morn, we stole out, ran and played, when for years we sashayed, through life without a care.
Now you’re young and I’m old, the age of steel, the age of gold. Through the alchemy of father time, your time has come and so has mine.
Grieve not for me for I’ve lived a full life and now I go, not too far away, just a veil, that was closed a while ago, welcomes me in its fold. Grieve not for me.
Grieve not for me!
Just use your time wisely, so that you too can say, some years hence, when your time comes to cross the fence, “I was happy when I lived, for all of you made me so. Be happy when I am gone, as I was who you know, so well!
Kishore Asthana