I walked the distance
Only to find that there is
No road ahead

It is always the case,
The distance does not matter
There is no road

Swimming in the pool
There is no fish
Sea is different

Hanging the boots,
Sliding in to arm chair
Neither road matters
Nor tomorrow
Yesterdays are more melancholic
Every action in the past
Is a metaphor in itself

Remembering an occasional
Swim in the village tank
Picking up the fallen hibiscus
Of the forgotten girl friend
Reverberating celebration
Of the poetry of youth

Heroism of old age
Measuring the magnitude of solitude

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