I remember the days when the crowd cheered as you climb unto the podium to speak
I remember the days where you would prepare a feast for the commoners to enjoy
I remember the days you would pick up strangers and bring them home to live with us
I remember the days the world turned at the mention of your name and evil trembled
I remember you in your shiny black suit coupled with a grey necktie and shoes to match addressing the crowd
I remember your glory days...
The days where your strength didn’t fail you and your pockets were fat
I remember the days your legs could still carry you and you were the best runner ever known
I remember the days your sight was bright and so was your smile
Gloomy the skies as your eyesight deemed
Shaky are your legs as your muscles weakened
Empty your pockets as your hands could no longer till
Oh how art the mighty fallen the wicked say
Oh hail the living legend whose glory days were glorious indeed I chant
Laying on my bed today and the thought of growing old came to mind, all the hustle and tussle would be things of the past and we would be a shadow of our former selves.
I remembers my dad in all his glory and his life lived now seem like a story, his adventures and sacrifices, only to not see so much. We always laugh at him and call him Thomas, yet remain proud of the name he has made and the legacy he built.
And then I remembered Mohammed Ali, the greatest boxer of all time. Old age hit him harder than most due to the injuries he sustained for doing what he loved doing the most while he was younger, he ended up with Parkinson’s disease and later died of septic shock. His resilience and strength only to become a legend.
Image used is mine
