Getting old

Getting old is not a big thing.
The stars are getting old too.
Even  God is also getting old.

And the stars get fagged out.
They twinkle in  wrinkled sky
And none to point and count.

God has grown old and tired.
There is no one to count stars,
He has tirelessly made in sky.

There  stars glow like worms .
They flicker in the lonely sky
And no one applauds the old.



Rain falls on the wet green sea,
From an empty blue sky above.

A sea has no umbrella above it.
Being high, the sky has neither.

The green sea and an empty sky
Are drenched in white wet rain.

Rain beats down the umbrellas.
They now have to leave  bench.

The benches have no umbrellas.
They are now wet with rainfall.

Umbrellas,  folded and at home,
Are dripping with rain memory.