She sits a frail, stooped figure silently silhouetted

In the shadows lengthening at the hour of twilight

When the golden last tear of Hespera

Blends with the turquoise waters of the hurling ocean

And the night kisses the dying day good bye

She sits amid the juvenile flowers now wilted at dusk

On the cane swing in the garden tended by

Her now lined,nurturing hands

She looks a shadow of the young beauty she once was

As the moonbeams cover her with silver aura

Her face is pale with wrinkles embroidered

By the passage of the days on Time’s trail

Her forehead is wreathed in lines

Of worry, sorrow, contemplation

The smile is perfect with borrowed teeth

And the corners of her mouth crinkle

With the lines of laughter etched by ageless humour

Her eyes a pale azure blue like distant skies

Are deep and misty but sparkle with mirth

As if she has deciphered the irony of life

Her hands are frail, bony and knotted

The finelines are like a spiders gossamer web

Adhering to either of the palms

Wiped away by labour rubbing on the hands

Her head once covered with raven waves of glistening silk

That captured the sunrays and held moonbeams captive

Is now a halo of the silver of age, a corona of wisdom

Her hair still long but sublime tightly boundf in a stoic bun

No longer granted the liberty of flying in the breeze

As on the bygone days of whimsical youth

In her simple saree scattered with floral prints

And a red dot of verminilion resledent

On the forehead etched with lines

With a few red bangles on each wrist

And a streak of red vermillion

Between parted hair on the head

Her lips are nude of colour a soft innocent baby pink

Still reminiscent of the dewy twin rose petals of youth

She is no longer a ravishing beauty

But in her elegance, her charm, her smile

Beauty long wiped by Time’s relentless stride

Still lingers as a fleeting shadow, a memory…