This life has snubbed the bloom
like a thick brown sac
thrown on the sod.
An octogenarian tries to slice
the hope indulgingly
to achieve immortality!
Was it a virile snarl?
A rose bud wrenched open
in a fatherless home.
Psychopathic?
We are spinning round the bell.
It may not tell the god.
A moon finds a rival
in the lake.
Night opens like a black tulip.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
an octogenarian between 80 and 90 trying 'to slice the hope indulgingly to achieve immortality! ' with a life's struggle bursting out from between the lines, in beautiful images of nature, framed also in cultural images. Enjoy the journey, so much may be achieved in golden years, saved from values of the past.