It might not be my best, but:
I lay awake on bed, staring at the ceiling,
Waiting for sleep to come, but it eludes me now,
The night-time carries with it strange feelings,
Taking me back in time, making me remember how:
We used to get together and play cricket,
With best-bowler Bouncer and me at the wicket,
Playing in lazy afternoons, changing the rules of the game,
Breaking many windows and wondering who to blame.
The games are over now; there are no more Get-tos,
There is a new Bouncer now; and another kid in my place,
New streets, new teams, new games to win and lose,
As times lead me, all I can do is give in with grace.
The bed next to me creaks; bringing me back to now,
It is still dark and dawn so far away,
I try to write this all down, but I cannot hold a pen,
It takes me back to a time when:
Teachers feared at the idea of teaching me,
For I wouldn’t listen, they could clearly see,
Punishments, beatings, ah they tried in vain,
I remained impervious, though very much in pain.
How I repent that now, how I wish I could go back,
But as times lead me, all I can do is give in with grace.
I hear footsteps and urgent whispers, is something wrong?
Oh, must be old Martha singing her famous song,
She is like me she is,
She dwells in her past, at an hour like this,
Sings for the good, frowns for the bad,
To continue, oh yeah, I had:
The best job a man could ask for,
A loving wife many would die for,
Parents who took care of us,
Two girls who excelled in all,
I spent everything on them, frills or fuss
In my memories they glimmer and fade,
As times lead me, all I can do is give in with grace.
The sun rises finally, and a single tear leaves my eye,
Another minute, hour, day has passed me by,
I look around, to see others in a similar daze,
not knowing what to do, after reaching the end of the maze.
Suddenly I hear a familiar cry,
Oh bless me; my grandson has come by,
These visits are all that govern my day’s pace,
As times lead me, all I can do is give in with grace.
