Sunday Reflections By Samik Sen

It is sad to grow old

I feel like unbosoming myself to you dear. I wish I could make you feel how badly I miss my spent fire, the youth that has been stolen from me. Gone is the time, when drunk in the fatal charm of Eustacia Vye, I like a Wildeve used to ride a horse tipsy enough to match my mood. For hours I used to read the Romantics, and my blood whistled across the lines, my head dizzy with raptures, my frenzy was the only muse I knew. I have driven her out of my cottage and her face was red with tears. Where have my days fled, where have my dreams disappeared?
It’s sad to grow old, to age like a tree and fall like a leaf. Sleep has licked me up, I can hear its jaws munching my loneliness like the crow that is called time. Time is that crow that keeps on pouring out its venomous voice sitting upon the window of our hope… yes my dear, only the clock keeps on ticking, nothing else moves. It’s the clock that turns the black into grey.
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