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Warning of Innuendoes

An old tatty knave reads the strange Tattoo on her attractive back;
'The proximity where I roam contains chemicals, including Tobacco smoke
known to the state of Insomnia to cause Cancer and birth defects or other reproductive harm.Handsome Politicians' lethargy.
More information on specific exposures has been provided to wayfarers..........'
The rest few lines covered by her strapless sensational Brassiere.
Though he's senile he reminisces the word 'Warning.'

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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When his pet Earth gets angry?

T..........errible
S...........uffering
U.. .........nanimously
N............ature
A... ..........grees
M.............utual
I...... .........nterest!

When this experimental Man
Digs & digs
Day & night
To get golden water,
The bachelor Sorcerer too
Helpless of the powers that shows
This mysterious ball at random!

*Poor innocents compensate with their precious lives and what is this unfair Dogma?
[Quoted from a Survivor but a Senile's Diary.]

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Crime

It must be midnight; no idea
Anyhow the darkness is horrible
And not a single star remains in the sky.
An infant's cry very loud; non stop
Deaf father still not sleep and mother is dead already
Nobody knows.
There isn't a single meal in her stomach.
Infant's cry continues.
A retired and a senile magistrate who never sleeps lives at the next door raided the cottage.
Does he strangle the child?

*I dedicate this poem to street children of the World who doesn't have an identity.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Nonagenarian

He is not yet senile but a fading memory,
in his nonchalant way sitting on a bench
with his walking stick aside.
He is another member to the home for the elders
who sustains by charity.
Nobody comes to see him
loved ones either forgotten
or lives abroad who knows? .
Like a sundowner looking to the infinity
and he smiles alone with teary eyes.
His wrinkled face reflects the hardships undergone.
Everybody's Dad!
not necessary to wrestle with life again
the days are very few to regain.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Senior Student

Senior Student.

Senescence...don’t know what that word means,
I forget so many words now a days.
A man called Alexander has stopped writing says
he forget dates and names of famous persons
but isn’t that what Wikipedia is for?

Senescence...old age, I read, better than senile which
is a word full ancient dust, of knowledge chipped off
an old statue, like the one I saw in Rome,
time had made his face featureless and he had lost
six fingers. Senior citizen me? I still have nine fingers.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Short Report

It was a short report
on the third page
somewhere near the bottom
an elderly woman
living alone
no relatives
or at least none nearby
no friends
or at least none that cared.
She had some money
how much they didn't say.
She walked down the high street
giving it away.
The social services got involved
put her in a home
doped her with pills
found someone to manage her money.
She can live on it for years and years.
But if the money's hers
why shouldn't she give it away

[...] Read more

poem by Gillian Commerford
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Home Coming... Hypothetics

I will make amends with me today,
stop fighting with myself.

Unthinkable to live without pain,
in war with suffering.

Quietly cries the flame without sound.
While night lingers on.

Nothing was easy for a quick resignation
of ephemeral tears.

Again love opens like a senile gash,
a chandelier suddenly crashing.

Going back to old city, blowing the limbs off
I will find my house.

Trying to search a clue to the colour of wound?
Catch my style.

[...] Read more

poem by Satish Verma
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Song Above The Sorrow

I missed the heartbeats for a vessel of stars,
while death was always near,
circling the house.

The network of sorrow,
beams to world.
Can symmetry of pain
provide a plank for the sinking mind?
I cannot hold the curling smoke of a tainted fact.
The fear, the anxiety,
empowers the animal look.

An uncovered seed sprouting into
tiny root on my hand
starts a conspiracy.
People talk about the meditation,
and senile body shrinks.
There is a song above the sorrow and
freedom from the assassination of ideologies.
Hold my arm!

poem by Satish Verma
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You're not middle aged yet you think?

Old age then your back aches
Becomes a viaduct arch of pain
Foundation's get subsidence
You lose 10inches all elegance

In thought your opinion's tower
Your judgments still acquire
Unremitting unquestioned respect
Old age is senile let's not forget

You're misunderstood too proud
To listen to wear a hearing aid
Yelling above the common crowd
False Orange tan what a masquerade

A grandmother in her pre-war paint
An atheist till age 78 still hitting town
So I mock the aged and the antiquated?
'You're not middle aged yet you think? Oh you silly clown'…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Catch The Sunset

A lifetime with a classic pain,
does not give me peace or freedom.
Blind ideas scream,
breaking the antique silence.
Becoming was not,
the ending of desire,
or senile decay of lips.

You were destroyed,
by your weird dreams.
Silver spoon,
seldom became the bread of poor.
Sweated and smashed,
I picked up green
sprigs of sorrow.
It was a gift of sun and water.

Waiting for my turn
to catch the sunset
and the new moon together.

[...] Read more

poem by Satish Verma
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