Life of an old billionaire


Lines run deep into her face,
Hands always working,
Or shivering I cannot tell

She waters the plants,
And goes inside,
The doors creak,
They need repair.

Patches on wall forming weird faces,
A musty smell surrounds,
In the kitchen the sandwich uneaten.

She sits on the chair,
In front of a young man frame,
Her husband her son
I cannot tell.

The bungalow, the garden,
The Benz in the parking lot remains
She sits on the chair all day,
All alone, all alone.

By- S.R.Pateliya

Image source: here 


4 thoughts on “Life of an old billionaire

    1. Lucky are those who have good memories to recall. But again are memories enough to remove the loneliness?
      Neither her luxury nor memories could make her a happy being.


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