The Old Man Poem by Anil Kumar Panda
The Old Man
Each night, he would wake up,
To cough and aching body…
He was dying like a leaf
In summer..scalding in the
Heat of misfortune.
All his fronds are gone..one by one.
And he stood like a pole
To draw awe and sympathy
From passersby who once lived
With his alms.
Now he is alone,
Like a broken bench in a part.
Each season brings with it
A new fear that eats away
His dream to live and flourish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 6:58:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
