An Old Face Poem by Ayatullah Nurjati

The face that is always strong is eaten by age that doesn't seem tired of whining
Never reap the gold in his shabby pocket and pocket
Still hoping and hoping that he can ride life
I can only berate him, abandon him and always make his heart cry
Is it called father, father or papa who is always strong in the storm
Is it really a steep road that is always tread
Because my father can reap the old school bench with his greedy trinkets
And because of my father, I can pierce the essence of life through education
I'm grateful for the old face that seems tireless to give peace
I who don't know myself can only chatter to that face how to behave without knowing how to behave humanely
I who don't know thanks can only write black ink and keep screaming
Basically, I don't know myself or don't know how to repay
Day, night that face always scavenges for diamonds for my family
But take a look at what cursed children including me can only think about personally
The lines on the face that seem to have faded and the muscles that are inching are wobbly
Still, that face always has a smile on it
Thank you father, hopefully one day you will be able to receive rewards from me not through material things but through essence.