Posted in Poems

The old discarded


Eighty old folks in the home.
Sitting in rows, frail.
Many in wheelchairs.
Looking beyond us, searching.

Were they hoping to see
their children had come?
Hopeful faces going blank.
Shoulders slumped, losing hope.

I was there with a group.
To bring Christmas cheer.
We sang Carols; served lunch.
And tried to give care and comfort.

The lives they had, taken away.
Among strangers they live now.
Always searching for a face.
Each day hope dies a little.

I saw eyes dull and empty.
Filled with pain and sadness.
Vacant; nothing left to live for.
Each day waiting for death.

I don’t think I can do this again.
To see so many sent away, discarded.
Left in homes, alone and abandoned.
Sick and dying, without family around.

I am not judging.
Their story I don’t know.
But sadness I see in their eyes.
A vacant loneliness, for hope has gone.

By C.E. Pereira



I'm a Eurasian of Portuguese, English, Scottish and Malay heritage. And my extended family are of Chinese and Indian heritage. In recent years, the younger generation have added on to include spouses from the Philippines, Nigeria and Russia. My world is made up of different colours like the rainbow. And like the rainbow I am unique. Reading is my form of relaxation, to escape from the drudgery of daily life and enter into a world of the imagination. It is the love of reading that has led me to try my hand in writing short stories and poems. I hope that in some way my stories and poems will take you for a little while away from the drudgery of the present into the pages of imagination. To new friends found, I bid you, Welcome. Sincerely, C.E. Pereira

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