When the back begins to bend
Over the chest
And knees crick in a wobbling walk
With desertification of the forehead
And everything hair turns to gray
Like the white hibiscuses,
And a third leg is desirable
Then the conscious will see death
Leaving them in oblivion
And the prayer will be to let the soul
Go its way and let the earth have his meal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
let the soul go on its way..