An aging soul, silent nights & seasons
How we count days, amount just a few
And fight against the judgments of time.
To extend, stretch the brevity of life.
An aging soul, man seeks power to save
fight aging, death to which we're slaves
and neither sorrow nor agitations asleep,
here in our bones, we fight ills that creep,
There exist Many sorrows, trials & pains
Whose hands wreck, annihilate our gains
we search vigor, place hope in our bones,
Unfortunately, life springs and fast gone.
Who could hold still, the breath of life?
Dreams & hopes, a sudden smile & gains
Whose friendship, love last, but few mist?
& Far more with life, there is no bargain.
Aging soul, a woe of some divine despair
Can't escape, the lonely nights here below,
But wail the dread of death and sorrows,
And call God to soften, the fears that arise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Counting days is always fighting only....you've revealed the old heart's struggle and challenge very well...nice write