Age is just a number on your passport, which with each passing year increasingly resembles an encrypted access code to discounts at the pharmacy. Laughing at your wrinkles and forgetfulness is much more beneficial than trying to fight gravity without success. In this collection, we've collected ironic lines about how to turn the inevitable aging into a captivating comedy series. Let these poems become your antidepressant in the fight against the first gray hairs and nostalgia for bygone times. Read, smile, and remember that self-irony is the only elixir of youth that really works.
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Sports uniform
I wanted to run a marathon at dawn, But my joints said, "Forget it, fool." I'd rather hide in a cozy, fluffy blanket And pull the remote control like a trigger. My current record is the distance to the couch Without breathlessness, without pain, almost without effort. Old age is when, from any fog, I rush with delight only to where the food is.
Invisibility glasses
I spent half an hour searching the apartment for my glasses, looking under the chair, under the dresser, and onto the balcony. I was upset like no one else in the world, and felt like an old, sad elephant. And the mirror stared sarcastically at me, reflecting my confused face. I drank coffee, ate a piece of tangerine, and suddenly regained my sight, laughing at my stupidity now. The glasses sat on my forehead like a crown, hiding my forehead, where the traces of wrinkles lay. I went out into the garden, as if from a pulpit, seeking salvation from such nonsense.
Diet breakdown
The doctor prescribed me salad and kefir, To bring my blood pressure back to normal. But in the fridge there was a festive feast, There the sausage sang to me through the glass. I held back, I was practically a saint, I didn't look at the buffet for three whole hours. But at night a parade occurred in my stomach: I'll eat everything there was and turn off the light.
Memory on maternity leave
I walked into the kitchen, my goal clear and precise. I wanted to get a knife or a glass. But my thoughts, like a brisk tap dance, disappeared into the fog, like a captain at sea. I stand, looking at the shelves and the walls. Why did I come? What was the important plan? My head is full of changes, my inner screen has worn away to pieces. I returned to the living room, sat on the edge of the sofa, and then it dawned on me: I just wanted tea. Aging is such a monkey, really, that it spins memory like a random bark.
Morning exercises
I got out of bed—something cracked in my back, like someone snapped a dry branch in the silence. I stretched, but immediately went silent, my spine instantly reminding me of itself. Exercise now is simply standing up, and remembering how to breathe, so as not to fall. Age dictates its strange law: Move smoothly, like a sleepy python.
Small talk
I met a friend ten years later. He had grown gray and a little rumpled. We discussed not the latest ballet, but the pain in my left side, under my shoulder blade. He complained about drugstore prices, I about the weather and my sleep at night. We, two once-reckless men, had become like two country mothers. We laughed until we cried at our own fate, remembering our past late-night revelries. Now our limit is tea and sausage, and a plea to the doctor: "At least treat something!"«
Nighttime thoughts
I used to be able to dance until the morning, drink lemonade and shout songs. Now, ten o'clock is my true peace, sleep embraces me with its cool hand. If I stay up until eleven, in the morning my face is like I've just done something wrong. Age takes its toll without ceremony, I sleep like a baby, in my own undertone.
Digital barrier
My grandson sent me some kind of "messenger," He said it was all very simple and clear. I press it—and my "retired" voice Suddenly turns into a squeak, which is terrible. I deleted everything that could be pressed, The phone fell silent, as if in harsh captivity. Better to write a paper letter Than to seek silence in this world. Technology these days is for young minds, We would like something simpler—a bell and a dial tone. Progress makes me almost ready To retire to a monastery or a quiet forest.
Fashion verdict
Skinny jeans? I guess not, They make me look like a captive sausage. Fashion doesn't bother me anymore, I choose comfort and length. A soft sweater, comfortable pants, So that they don't pinch anywhere, ever. Let them say I'm out of boredom, I feel good, the rest is just water.
Garden landing
In the spring, at the dacha, with a shovel in hand, I feel as strong as in my youth. But by evening, there's pain in my lower back, And a bunch of medicine for bad weather. I planted tomatoes and onions, My back says, "You're crazy, friend!" But I just laugh, rubbing my sides. Gardening is life, forever. Tomorrow I'll bend over five hundred more times, Let my back ache, let my joint sing. Old age is no reason to sit on the stove, It's better to fix bricks in the garden.
Date
I spent a long time getting ready for the date, Applying three layers of anti-wrinkle cream. It seemed I even looked a little younger, But in the mirror I'm the same old hero. I met her, we walked down the alley, Both silent, afraid of shortness of breath. Old age—it makes you kinder, Even when we read books.
A question of authority
Someone gave me a seat on public transport today, I was indignant: "I'm still young!" And the people around me just shrugged, As if to say, "Grandpa, sit down, don't be a fool." I sat down, ashamed, looking out the window, Remembering how I myself had given up my seat to old people. Time flies - that's a given for everyone, Death is just peace at your sides. Okay, I've resigned myself, I'm driving, I look, It's even nice - no one is pushing. I'll show with my whole appearance now That old age is when everything is forgiven.
Vision as an art
Fine print is my worst enemy, A restaurant menu is like a dark ravine. I carry a magnifying glass in my jacket pocket to see where the line on a dish is. The waiter smiles, seeing my gesture, I order the test that I understand best. Age is no reason to deprive yourself of food, Glasses are simply a sign of purity.
Dancing until you drop
At my grandson's wedding, I stepped into the circle, The music thundered, my heart pounded. I danced like a seasoned surgeon, Until I heard someone grumble. It was my pelvis asking for rest, My knee said, "Come on, let's go home." I smiled, adjusted my wig, And sat down on the bench like an old man. But I lit up, even if it was only for five minutes, Let everyone around me wait in bewilderment. Old age is a dance, even with a crunch, But with fire and soulful feeling.
Recipe for happiness
What do you need at fifty to be happy? A little peace and quiet, a glass of wine. Be a little trusting of yourself, and not be bothered by your wife. She, of course, also wants peace, we're aging together, like good wine. This is probably the most precious thing—being together when everything around us is decided.
Morning mail
In the morning I check my email and the news, looking for articles about the dangers of cholesterol. We've all lost the last vestiges of conscience, eating everything in sight, like a machine. I read that walking is good for you, went to the park where the children were screaming. Came home to lie down and sleep, watching the clock tick away. Age is a time for contemplation, for tea, for a blanket, for a long sleep. No need for any confessions anymore, just for silence and spring.
Gadgets and nerves
I pressed the screen—it froze forever, I'm shaking the phone—it's just a disaster. My grandson came running, pressed two buttons, Everything worked—I'm shocked, like in a furnace. How do they do it, what's their secret? Maybe they don't eat for lunch? Age is when you're afraid to press, Lest you break the world and run away.
Autumn thoughts
The leaves fall like my hair in the bath, Quietly and smoothly, without unnecessary worries. I sit in my old, favorite caftan, And wait for this year to end. My bones ache, anticipating the rain, I drink hot rosehip tea. Old age is when everything is ahead, If you've become your own hostage. Thoughts of eternity, thoughts of the past, All this is rubbish, to be honest. You need to appreciate everything that was good, And just be able to laugh heartily.
Sports passion
I bought a membership to an expensive gym, I went twice, then took a break. Now my trainer is my own ficus, And I'm on the couch, forgetting about the break. Sports are cool, but rest is more important, Especially at a mature age. I'll watch others sweat, While my muscles grow soft from laziness.
Result
I'll soon be seventy, but I still joke, Counting wrinkles like stars in the night. I still want to live like a boy, No matter how much the bricks hurt. Let my passport lie that I've become an old man, My soul leaps like a wild deer. I will follow my own strange path, Until my main day arrives. Laugh at everything that fate gives you, Be yourself, no matter the dates. Life is the coolest struggle, Where we are the victors, not the soldiers.