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It seems comforting to be told
That old is really gold.
Yet in truth so unnerving to see some old
Left in the cold alone in their world.

In bungalows, in shacks or in homes,
Some old ones languish, pining all alone.
Kids have flown far for a living to seek;
The city is not right for oldies, so they speak.

Like withering trees, they remain stoic,
Patiently waiting, filled with heartache.
Only to be visited on the annual new year;
Year after year after year after year.

For their old ones, kids have no time or space;
For breathlessly, they’re caught in the rat race.
Desperately they’re hurdling in the fast lane,
Their old ones soon forgotten, soon become alien.

Sleek mobiles are their lifeline to business deals.
A few minutes’ call home, they have no time to steal.
Do they shudder to think when they’re summoned home,
They might to be bidding farewell at their tomb?

Surviving on hope, their old bleeding hearts pump on,
Reminiscing on nostalgic memories make them strong.
They’re taken for granted in their complacency
As most kids do not think filial piety is of any urgency.

Life’s come full circle; they’re now on the receiving end
Tottering with insecurity, they need a helping hand.
They need all their kids’ love and support
For only a few more years; that’s all they’ve got.