Old...old home

These man have passed a long way.
They have seen a lot of this crazy life.
Now they are expired.
They are burden to us.
They are the ashes of reality.

So we, their children throw them.
Leave them to another world.
Where none but solitude accompany them.
They live in the old home.

There is a lot of similarities between old and child.
They are both unpredictable, sentimental.
They both like freedom, as themselves.
They both break rules, deny to be our doll.
They both refuse the disciplines of fate.
Though they are same, why we don't treat the old as child?
Why we think them garbage, spare them?
Why we make them alone in the walled old home?
Why can't we feel their sighs of loneliness?
Why can't we see their rainy eyes of pains?

Please don't throw them of.
Don't think them useless.
As a child don't punish them.
Don't send them to the jail named old home.