Now, late into the years
Of my youth, I have
Given up the celebration
Of my birthdays. Sometimes,
Even the birthdays of
Others.
It doesn't matter anymore.
There are no more
Countdown to maturities,
And every party is merely
A trite reason to drink
Whiskey and champagne
To forget, 'today, I am
Older.' And that I should be
Wiser for it. Quite a laugh.
I don't even mark my calendars.
Lately, I find myself forgetting
Seasonal holidays as well.
But she is a gem,
So I still mark our anniversaries.
Aside of which, there is
Nothing else to mark
In the monotony of life.
Counting the years go by
In hours with her,
And hours without
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem