As time and space stretches its vision,
the experience creates different decisions.
While inquisitive has still its sphere,
the idea of old age draws near.
Whatever said by poets and sage,
the consequence of time is measured by age.
The waning and waxing of many moons,
no one in this light sphere is immune.
In this living transparent of vivid dream,
the soul is not a part of this scheme.
As age is opportunity no less,
in another magic dress.
Take that internal youth of charm,
the oldest tree bears fruits for the wise to farm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem