Retirement

Dr. R. R. Menon

I’ve seen many people fretfully approach
retirement with sheer fear, if not reproach,
never the relief I felt Not a topic I broach
with others lest I should look an odd egg
hatching some special chick to brag.
I felt so comfortable with myself having
nothing to do, and doing only what I like,
time hardly mattered; watch, a bracelet.
A heaven had been won, my life was set
in the peace I dreamt of. With wet blanket-
­predictions I had been slightly upset.

Methodologies on managing time
are many. Prescriptions in their prime
meet sickness that change. Oh, man,
thinks he manages; man just ages. If he can
see the light within, each sense tuned
to his talent and adjusted to taste, a fine­-honed
life reveals itself. Luck was your solace
earning your victories in the damned race
Mornings now unhurried. The slow breakfast
builds no acids. Needn’t cut short the walk past
your favourite garden Days. Have a new cast.
Sundays were my favourite days: no more.
Such partiality is part truth, part folk-lore
Of the workaday world that I now ignore.
Each hour I savour at my pensioner’s pace,
its joys and juices. To win lasting peace
I wage small battles and stand at ease.
The candle of life now burns a golden flame,
no winds disturb, the hands holding the frame
are steady, the light merely exists and adorns
a heart whence faith has removed all thorns
with which devil and darkness play their game.