A contemplative poem about aging, uncertainty, and the quiet resilience of the human spirit. It explores the tension between not knowing life’s direction and still choosing to live fully—finding meaning in small moments, simple awareness, and the courage to begin again each day.

As If It Were My Last Day

How much time do I have now?
A question that sits
like an old companion
at the edge of my bed.

It doesn’t shout.
It waits.

I have chased answers
through books, through people,
through the soft promises of mornings
that never quite explained themselves.

Yes, I am older now—
but not finished.
I find the question still breathing in me.

Strange, isn’t it?

The body slows,
but the mind—
oh, the mind keeps knocking
on doors that don’t exist yet.

You told me once:
Live the life given by God,
as if there were a map,
as if the roads were labeled.

But this life—
it feels more like walking through fog
with a heartbeat for a compass.

Still… I salute the morning.

And I think:
What if today is the last page?

Not in fear—
but in defiance.

What if I spend it noticing
the way light leans on the wall,
enjoying it fully
when no one interrupts?

What if I forgive faster,
laugh louder,
care less about matching shoes,
and walk somewhere meaningful?

I get dressed sometimes
just to feel ready—
not to go anywhere,
but to remind myself
I still have a wish.

Something in my heart says:
There is still a way to burn—
not out, but bright.

So I will live this day
as if it might be the last—
not by rushing,
not by fearing,

but by arriving in it
and feeling it completely.

And if tomorrow comes—
I will arrive there too,
with my natural smile.

(Vijay Verma)
 www.retiredkalam.com

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