To the present Me

A fleeting glance in the passing

caught me off gaurd;

I see myself.

But I don't recognize


The stranger seems familiar

is it distortions in the mirror

or is it her

that makes her a stranger?


Been long enough

since I spent time with her

listening to her joys

fixing her hear break.


And life seems to rush past

before you know it

She is wrinkled with snow for hair

And full of regrets


There she is,

Looking at me with animosity

I took her for granted

didnt find time for her

cos I was too caught up in life


I try to cajole her 

put a smile on her real face

and make her ebullient

cos arthitis never touches the soul.

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