Old

We are old and puffed up  with silences.
We do not want to hang for others money
Let us be .We are used to long silences
And  we hang in on our higher language
And sardonic laughter, not quite caught.

So, do we see a jerk in the driver of awe
A body with respect in  eyes for the old?
No, just money-hunger of seven rupees,
From a  body  that carries other bodies
A face not quite distinct, possible of puff
With oldness , when once out of splutter.
Knees shall laugh in due course of wobble.

We are old ,not quite liking to be called aunt
By an aunt in  street with a cuckoo in throat
Calling out , you gone for a walk recently?
Yes, of course, our knees do not wobble yet.
But we shall have our own cuckoos soon.

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