When the bones begin to crack
While still within,
And the back is bent
And the skin,
A withered version of its youth
With empty gums
Revealed by a senile smile
And legs
Which often refuse to move
And a head as bald as the full moon
But for some scattered, really grey hair
With eyes that look on, unseeing
And pain from all over the body
Seems unceasing,
And body odour as strange
As can be
Then,
When the feaces are collected
By another,
And one is being moved here and there
By another
And one is being fed, bathed and clothed
By another
And speech is senseless
And unwarranted
And sure memories are blurred
And one is a child
Yet again
Comes a need to die
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hmmmmm.you put me outta speech
Glad the poem had that kind of effect. Thanks!