The thing with age that lets you down-
until you figuratively creep on the ground,
Retrieving what no longer is there
A quest imprinted-no longer found.
Even reading which took me away
In those long days which I had not understood,
Those were the 'best days' that I had ever lived
Where I believed every day that 'I could'.
I use to fantasize myself in the book-plot
to see what I would do,
But now I realize that my new plot is a chimera -
Since then my sinew and my heart-like evil angels-
All aflutter, each flew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
I use to fantasize myself in the book-plot to see what I would do... nice to read the poem