I glace out my window sill,
Beneath the mount lie, one tree hill.
Wherever you may look,
The landscape view is straight out of the book.
I look back to my glorious past,
Cough with pain and aghast.
I catch my chest, think of my life,
End up seeing my dead wife.
My children are abroad,
Earning tonnes sitting in their abode.
They call me asking, 'How are you father dear? '
Once in a while, meaning, once a year.
Once my son calls asking my birth date,
I happily say its October twenty eight.
I ask 'Are you planning a celebration? '
'No, its just for some application...'
Im a man of great self respect,
Not a penny from my children do I expect.
I live off my generous pension,
At my father's good old mansion.
You love your children,
Expecting they'd love you back.
Oh! go on and dream,
Coz its a myth, and that is a fact.
But I'll be undaunted and strong,
As I was in old bad times.
Like the giant lone tree on the hill,
Which I still glance, through the window sill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem