I am old now,
But I am not dead yet.
I am grey,
But I am not weak.
I could still walk down the dusty village lanes
And watch the cows grazing.
I could still smell the freshness of the queen of the night
As on full moon nights it explodes into a riots of ecstatic perfumes.
I could still hear the call of the sea
As the evening falls,
And the birds ply their weary way home
The village children are still there
They frisk, gambol and chatter.
Have you looked at the blue sky lately?
Well love I have,
And my spirit thrills to vie with the bees as they chase shy blooms for honey.
I am old
And I am not afraid.
I am old
And before I drift into the arm of a permanent slumber,
I want to drink full of the remaining nectar
And empty the precious chalice of life
I will go,
Certainly I will go
But not before I wipe my lips dry with contentment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem