Poem & Recording by: Joana Young
Poem & Recording by: Joana Young
Who is this old man?
He used to run about life with a heightened pace;
But now, he goes around with shoes he cannot lace.
Who is this old man?
There was not a day he would go without singing songs;
But now, he feels there isn’t a place where he belongs.
Who is this old man?
He used to be courageous, strong, and put up a fight;
But now, he feels defeated, and desperately cries at night.
Who is this old man?
He used to have the wisdom of a thousand years;
But now, he is shadowed and blinded like closed veneers.
Who is this old man?
He was known to travel to exotic and adventurous lands;
But now, his despair mounts like grains of sand.
Who is this old man?
He was a man whose life’s problems he would conquer;
But now, his mind is blank, hazed, and dazed in a blur.
Who is this old man?
He would share in the glory and excitement with bliss;
But now, all he can do is sit in silence and reminisce.
Who is this old man?
He once would go bravely into the dragon’s lair;
But now, all he does is look out the window and stare.
Who is this old man?
He would fly over the hills that no one would see;
But now, he just says, “The noose is knotted, just let me be.”
Who is this old man?
He would garnish himself with such laughter and joyful happiness;
But now, loneliness engulfs him in pangs of distress.
Who is this old man?
He once was a man who was loved and adored;
But now, he is withered, tattered, and scorned.
Who is this old man?
For this man still holds all of these amazing qualities… it is his own perception of loneliness and lowliness that he is plagued with. He is not old at all in years, but in his fears, and his doubts, and his tears… and he chooses to dwell under the darkest cloud. For this lovely man has not smiled or felt anything. He has become dead inside, empty. There is no sound, nor action, nor voice, nor gift that will uplift this old man. He has become sedentary, has given in, anguished, and no hope to live again.
Who is this old man?
He is one who has blessings in disguises in all forms, but chooses not to be grateful. Like a train, they pass right by him without notice, without a glance, without a chance that he can become ‘this person’ who he ‘once was.’ Or, could this be an illusion? It is for him to decide. It is for him to continue down the discontented path or make the arduous journey, the long trek, through the desert, through the mounds of sand, through the storms of tears, through the fire of those dragon lairs, through the noose and round up those fears, through the bewildered shadows of a million years, through the heightened air of heaviness to see the sun, to feel the warmth, to see the glory far beyond what he ‘used to be,’ for the train is waiting at the next station. He just needs to put on his best runners and make the first step.
Who is this old man?
He once was a man whose life was a mess;
But now, he has learned that he has been blessed.
Who is this old man?
He once was a man who was trifled and drowning in the sorrows he faced;
But now, he is a man who’s realized that life is preserved, and now has a place.
Who is this old man?
He once was a man who was without a care;
But now he is a man who is alive, and thrives, without a dare.
Photo credit by "mugley"
This photo was taken
on February 9, 2007
in Melbourne, Victoria, AU.
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