There are clues that dialogue is ending
The routine cues no longer whisper back
And messages the silences are sending
Hint of declamation way off-track.
Deftly draw the curtain on the story
The mumbling of a monologue onstage
Life and its strange eventful history:
The seventh act reveals the final age.
"I'm losing my mind, aren't I": he said
She replied: "I will remember for you",
Ready to prompt him in the days ahead
Coaxing what yet remains to see it through.
Rehearsing memory herself tight-lipped
She adds a note to margin on the script.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem