When I get old
When I get old I would like to fly far away, distant from the city life. I want to run away and leave the city lights with my bare feet stomping on the road to a place where I really belong, to a place where I can find solemnity. Nowadays, it’s hard for me to seek a pacific living, because I can’t contain the toxic air that invades my nose, it’s suffocating me. I’m so sick of listening to the noise of bustling vehicles that are awake day and night. Seeing the people around doing so many things, cramming and always chasing time makes me feel worn out. Children, unlike yesterday, even forgot how to play the traditional, instead you can see the brightness of the screen touching their faces. People even learned to hate the rain; they can’t even look up to the sky at night for they were so occupied. It really makes me sad how the once full of blooming tress turned into industrial sites. I don’t like how people revamped the verdant plains into lands that hardens the soil. I’m lonely that my friends, the trees, have left first before me. I was hoping that we will see each other growing old. In this kind of life, it is seldom for me to find peace. I’m so fed up with lots of people talking nonsense, committing crimes, and hearing bad news, it feels like my life is congested.
For me, it’s like a cage, a big and a wonderful cage, yet it is too much to be held captive of it forever. I see the endless desire of people, and I feel how it pushes me out of my limits. It is tiring. I cannot handle the weight of pressure pressed against me. This is not what I really want. I want something that will cut the bars of this prison so that I can flee like a bird.
When I get old I want to escape, turn my back to that life barefooted, so my journey would be silent and trailless. I want to spend my senescent life in tranquility. I want to be in a place near the sea with lots of trees, where I can hear noises, reverberations not of the urban’s, but psalms of the nature. I would love to hear the waves of the sea as they slap on the shore, the rustling of the leaves as the wind gently blows, the chattering and chirping of the birds, and the chorus of the crickets at night. It would be a satisfying and undying symphony. At dusk, I just want to lie on the shore and watch the sun hide, setting off the sky into an outstanding masterpiece as darkness slowly creeps into the welkin. The stars that flooded the heaven at night make me feel like I’m one of them. It feels like they’re watching me from above. I want to feel the breeze of cool and fresh night air while I’m setting the pile of woods into fire to keep me warm from the hug of wind. I want to be lulled to sleep by the crashing waves in the shore and to be roused by the chattering of roosters. When I get old, I would love to witness the sun claiming its place on the sky, giving a vibrant life to the sky.
It is where and how would I want to spend my ending years. And I would never grow tired and used to it, for it would only make me inspire to wake up every morning with smile, and to sleep at night with gratification painted on my wrinkled face.
When I get old.