A Blot Of Concluding Ink

The advent of youth envisioned in me exuberance and verve,
My tales of woeful outcry and narrow suffering, holding my nerve,

But today as I sit down to poetize among melancholic straits,

How I long for my eager feet, almost barely able to count dates.

It's been a vibrant flight so far, I've grown from a man to be,

A child ripened into daylight's glory, at once to wind down this odyssey.

More than love, lack and lusture, it's been a timid frightful voyage,

Since I knew, roads and pedestals I'd not conquer with similar rage.

Indolence has crept in, I begin to tremble at the fall of midnight,

Tonight I have as I lit my last fire, decided to write,

Of many stories untold, days dry and nights damp and wet,

Through my biting lungs, I begin to inhale chimney ash all set,

My mind is now ignited, eyes have all of a sudden brightened,

I see through my birth a great disarray of events, leading to suffice,

Everything is in truce, all sought to dwell in armistice.

Slowly everything seems to have brushed aside my years of youth,

Now I mature to an adult, seeking unpleasant worldly truth.

In my life, I have been dependent through it all on my mother,

Who comforted and nurtured me, as nourished proudly my father,

Adulthood slowly turned tables, the ball was now in my court,

They developed into what has become of me today, seeking my support,

Constantly I overlooked their escalating pain, undersized their trauma,

These days, my own children have begun to indulge in similar family drama.

Everything has come a full circle, I now say to my offsprings,

You know never, what gives to you life and what it brings.

I cannot try speak tonight, my teeth have started to rattle,

Nor can I climb stairs, bones lacking minerals have turned brittle,

But as I put my old disc to play, I hear voices from yesterday,

When I was a little child and my mother loved to play,

I miss my teethy grin, now only reminiscents remain to stay.

They rebuke now, scorn and throw upon me false blames,

As everyday I get victimised and trapped into their games.

But tomorrow I know, I'll join 'em up there in the sky,

As with these last few words, my ink begins to dry.

With dried ink and deterred imagination,

I subdue to these cramped fingers, with subtle resignation,

Accept my words as last rites to my vicissitude,

On my grave tomorrow, lay me down with nothing save solitude.