Hair sparse, grey and weak,
Forehead marked by a life so bleak.
His bushy brows were curved by regret
Of a middling life that all would forget.
Eyes, desperate and dull, saddened to see
The joy forgone, the man he could be.
The chilling breath his nostrils drew,
Added to his grief and paled his hue.
Lips dry, lacking any color or care,
Long unkiss’d, frowning in despair.
Hands torn, scratched by tools and toil,
Symbols they were of his life of turmoil.
Shoulders shrunken, from the burden of sorrow,
Beyond waited another day, a sadder tomorrow.
Heart heavy with all of life’s miseries,
Beating bravely, until the rhythm began to cease.
But starv’d of love and dear lover
Left it throbbing in vain, and without power.
All his life he laboured a lot and lived a little
Until he was old, and his bones were brittle.
Brought to the ground as his gaunt limbs relented
He cursed the heavens for the life he resented.
wow... tears fall remembering his presence i miss him but did not know him........ bravo, bravo, bravo! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is very powerful Shanto. Sincerely, Mary