The pungent smell of afterlife haunts the air
The crones fill the narrow hallways with clouded eyes
Their blank expressions linger in this forbidding lair
They fade in and out of reality only to share these horrid lies
They mourn over memories their hearts still hold
These tales they share with outsiders unknown
Weathered and tormented, they continue to tread on in places untold
They sit in their rooms wainting all alone
They wither around in their own grease,
Tangled hair and wrinkled lace
Soon all the agony and suffering shall cease
New homes they shall find in that secret place
They wander on fleeing this world
Finding refuge in this new dream-world
This is about a nursing home. My grandmother died last year on January 15 so I decided to write this a couple of days after. She was 95 years old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem