Who kidnapped our happiness?

I cannot get up early before the lazy Sunrise.
Where should I go?
A retiree seeks a haven to keep his burden head on a soft pillow
And sleep the whole day until she brings the mug of bitter coffee with the usual nagging.
She too became wearied in running behind my oblique shadow
And in the starry night I count the stars one by one in the Galaxy.
I request her to sing like old days and she murmurs her favorite in a housecoat.
'I know the joy of being an old man
That's called sorrow my dear.'
You see the things are blurred and hear very low
Limbs cannot move and the soul full of aches.
The day will come when I smile with you,
You look away!
And I understand dear that you won't recognize me anymore.
And I know the joy of being an old woman
That's called sadness my dear.'

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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