The Old Man

I sat in a car with my dad,

Realized my mistake, my bad,

My dad spotted the old man,

As I enjoyed with my soda can.

Awareness would've pleased my Father,

I didn't pay attention to it rather,

As I still realise regret,

A behaviour of mine not to neglect.

One could think of the dark cloud,

the man faced, which was big and loud,

A little respect that I could give,

Not as a matter, but he could forgive.

We have glasses but the way we see,

Could differ by miles, his fantasy.

Could be his mind, could be his thought,

or the big bad monster, he had but fought.

He could be compelled for this choice of his,

or reflex of action, to give him bliss,

A strong decision, to be but bold,

An innocent desire, his heart had told.

The age had come, he's old and wise,

Had rebellious nature, that would not rise,

He walked past shops, the streets are his,

He's young by mind, if we look beyond this.

We saw something new, new thing to learn,

Thinking as the car passes the garden fern,

And now I lie down on my bed,

Writing all which you just read.

— Gauri Singhal