Introduction;
Retirees truly deserve our respect for everything they’ve done. They’ve spent years sharing their skills and knowledge, making a real difference in our communities. I wrote a poem to celebrate them and all the things they’ve contributed. It’s inspired by my own retired parents — my mother, who was a teacher, and my father, who was a doctor. Their commitment to helping others has shaped so many lives, and I want to honor that.
Fragile, brittle, rusty;
Those cracking sounds can be heard in thousand miles.
Before, was an unbreakable shield, never shatter.
Dusty, abandoned, forgotten;
Does anyone hear me?
Long ago, I was a superhero, came with just one call.
Old, damaged, broken;
Do you find me still useful?
But, once changed the world.
Worn, faded, deteriorating;
I was once the fiery sun, now veiled by clouds.
They left me in darkness.
Alone! Scared! Decaying!
Waiting for the end.
I remember the time when I had a best friend,
who talked to me like a guiding angel.
His mouth was a passage through precious stories.
From dread to survival, from fantasy to romance,
his words entered me like divine possessing my soul.
He played me like a piano,
with sound like clapping rainfall,
Despite my single tone, he still sang with me.
With openness in our hearts;
we laughed, full of love;
breaking the silence of the calm afternoon.
But everything changed when the big cat came.
Purring quietly, lounging on the desk.
It had a mouse but didn’t want to feast;
Instead, they played a joyful chase.
It was a legless creature with a forked tail,
Single eye that conjured symbols into existence,
A mind larger than the universe,
Neurons flared like flashes of lightning,
Lighting the path to wonder.
I was left behind.
The divine tool now deemed obsolete.
The place where my letters once roared,
Now a jail of shadows of hell.
I set into unknown planet.
All negative emotions pierced my bones —
sadness, heartbreak,
pain, loneliness,
hopelessness, frustration —
all weighed me down.
The compass of my being suddenly spun aimless.
Before, I was multitasking,
Wore the crown of all jobs.
But, they didn’t hear the screams of my effort.
Forgotten by those whose voices I once raised.
Remembering when I was a soldier in war.
With my marching words saved many lives.
I rescued refugees,
told them the safest path,
taught them how to survive and to hold fast.
Against bombs and guns — I stood.
The black residue that once stained my skin became the ink of courage.
I’d raised the waving paper for freedom.
I was also a gardener, the chemist of nurturing.
Growing seeds of thought into tree of wisdom.
My water can was magical,
created colors across the garden of knowledge.
I sprouted a story, and bloomed a moral lesson.
Cultivator of both heart and mind.
I was also a medic,
mending pain and hurt through inspirational stories.
My words were remedies for wounds and scars left by the past,
helping to calm the shadows of bad memories.
Each line, a thread mending broken hearts, Each letter, a DNA of libraries.
My ink flowed like memory through veins,
Each keystroke beating with emotion.
Bringing forgotten pages back to life.
One day, the gates of hell opened again.
A shadow of evil appeared, clutching a flickering candle in the dark.
It grabbed me, I was cold and unrelenting!
And the fear still penetrated through my bones.
I screamed, “Help!”
But only echoes answered back,
and my cries faded into unknown.
Later, to my surprise.
The shadow was actually my best friend.
I turned out it was blackout.
I saw the big cat was lifeless.
The ferocious roar became a quiet worm,
And its magical eye turned to solid stone.
As an old friend, I felt happiness spark within,
Once more, he took me in his hands.
I thought I was pointless,
but forgotten songs and dances now played again,
Our rhythm revived under the Milky Way.
Final Thoughts
Some retirees feel as if they’ve lost their purpose, but that’s far from the truth. My mother, for example, keeps on teaching — not in schools anymore, but within the community. She says she misses her teaching career, which is why she still wants to help children learn how to read and write in the neighborhood and she offers it for free. During the pandemic, a shortage of doctors and medical professionals led to retired medical workers being called back to hospitals. They were sought out for their expertise in addressing the challenges posed by the pandemic. One of these retired medical workers who became a hero again is my father.