An ideal
walking his blues.
Not much blues, or bathos but
daily inevitable Chores,
he leads his full lived,
his tuned life to the core,
his cool morn wakes him
by four, with
the early
birds chirping close in the
balcony, reverberate the melody.
With the serene walking by
His path going always
Undeviating ,unalloyed by
Stress or strains.
His walk stick
handed out to him by his wife,
his bearing, lifelong
partner
with admonishing word of care
and warn on the traffic ridden road,
his equally corroded shoes,
the pair old
knocking the stones
thistles and rumbles more
by his Will power than anything.
No question of new wife in his life,
Nor does the clock race for he knows
His time and tenure of living.
An ideal walks back his home
to the care of his
wife.
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