The Old Man

The shabbily clad old man sat on the bus with his push cart closed by packed to capacity with his necessities.His wrinkled countenance, white hair and soft hands that revealed the passage of time was evident. I looked at him whilst he has a smile on his face as he muttered to himself. I wondered where were his children or what was his story. I have seen him in the past at the temple bowed and shuffling as he walks. I wonder how many people even noticed him or connected with him.
I am sure he never expected to be alone. I am sure he was deprived of sleep and so many luxuries raising his family . I am sure he held his children’s hands as they walked. Where were they now?
This is the sad reality of our harsh world. Immersed in our bubble we do not think of anyone’s story. In fact we think we will still stay young forever. We  also live in illusion and delirium thinking; this will never happen to me.
As I dressed beautifully yet again I thought of my changing face over the years . Soon I will be feeble and gaunt too maybe I will be bent. I wonder if I will be ready for the final test of my life.
I pray that even though I may talk to myself like that old man that I chant the Holy Names.

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