Now I’m just an aging wretch
limping down a bleak homestretch
with legs that ache and two sore feet
ready to concede defeat.
Still the autumn grass grows green
thus redeeming this bleak scene.
One more round and then I’m through–
from now on it’s up to you.
Carry on as best you can,
even with ersatz elan.
The fates are playing tricks on me
and tarnishing my brilliancy.
Alas, I have become afraid–
my brain has now begun to fade.
I search for words, for clever rhymes
that graced my verse in better times.
Instead of flaunting fluency
I’m warding off senility.
So be it if the gods decree it.
I’m sad that I am forced to see it.
MY NEXT INCARNATION
Surrounded by swarming samsara,
I resist, protest,
try to fight through it,
curse the absent gods,
resign with a petulant but timid growl
which scares no one.
I will plan my next incarnation
making sure it does not include
excursions through mind fields.