the face in the mirror,
grows darker with time...
deep and grainy,
weathered and beaten.
the trunk of an old tree,
where birds hide their nests,
and squirrels meet to plot
the downfall of man.
hollowed and sketched,
with dignity unspoken,
the scars of love and wars,
where insects breed and whisper.
and time itself,
bows in awe and respect,
for the tree that knows
itself to be a tree!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
and squirrels meet to plot the downfall of man. hollowed and sketched, with dignity unspoken, It happens in real life. thought provoking poem. well done!