And I am going back
To my mother's womb
Behaving like an unborn,
Helpless and ignorant
My hands are not free
To open the closet where in
I have been a prisoner
I am showing signs of
A child in my behavior
As I go on welcoming
New dawn day by dawn
As the hair is turning white
I am feeling unable to
Feed myself
I can't watch closely
The changing colors
Of the earth and enjoy
The incessant beatings
Of wings of butterflies
It is time for me
To lay in bed and think
All about the wishes I had
But could not fulfill
A true portrait of man at old age very nicely penned in the poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is nothing as good as being a child. Often time reels back as one steps in old age till then life is a race. Do enjoy every bit you live. Good words.
Thanks for the positive review of the poem. Appreciated.