In the Alzheimer's Unit, I see a scared elderly man shaking the door.
Stomping the floor,
Hitting the door,
I don't belong in here, he says.
He's seen better days.
His gray wired hair standing up.
He's refusing to give up.
Let me out of this place.
He screams with his loud voice.
I can tell.
He's not here by choice.
I start thinking just in case.
He starts something.
Like busting,
The door, he paces the hard waxed floor.
With his determination,
Imagination,
He can see his life on the other side of the door.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem