Old Men Without Dreams
written by: K John Koshy
They have grown old and weary,
Perhaps a little prematurely.
Their legs wobbly after all those miles,
Hands calloused by long toil, often thankless,
Shoulders stooped by the weight of years,
They fear the arrow that flies by day,
Wake up at night startled by the rustle of leaves.
They fear the present would haunt them till death.
They were young once and had visions,
They were the children of the republic,
Of a million dreams and soaring ambition,
Ever hopeful, of widening horizons,
Of breaking narrow domestic walls.
They dream no dreams no more.
Who killed their dreams,
What came of those visions?
Perhaps they blame us for pledges unredeemed,
For a tryst with destiny gone awry.
Perhaps they were a self-righteous generation,
Too proud of their beliefs and their provenance.
Took history and the future for granted,
And failed to see writings on the wall.
Were they too obstinate and hated to compromise,
And held us to standards too high to follow?
Is it our fault we believe in no utopias,
Learned to live and sup with devils?
Perhaps they saw with rose-tinted glasses,
Lived in a more easy-going world,
With friends who spoke their mind
And enemies who played by the rules.
Perhaps they never got used to the midnight knock,
Terror by daylight and judgement without trial.
How do we tell them we have our dreams too,
But dreams do not grow easily on this land.
- Old Men Without Dreams - January 11, 2024
- Elijah’s Mantle - November 9, 2022
- An Apostle’s Lament - June 3, 2022
