Poems on


a poem by Sudarshan Madhav Karhale

The warmth of my blood
keeps losing every second;
ugly wrinkles have started appearing,
being noticed, at the end of every weekend.

Lovely smiles of lively youth
grow pale faster with time.
My stomach holds no longer chunks of food,
rather a glass full or half of lime.

My eyes see far not more than a few inches;
I can barely feel my granddaughter’s pinches.
What’s left, is spending long hours with old friends
on topics of ongoing fashions and trends.