And again it reaches
Out. The hand that
Craved more of food,
Shelter and clothing
Than of life. Its veins
Eat up the skin behind
The patch of the palm
Weary, withered
And dry. The arm -
Skinny with the marrow
Ready to be immobilized.
Age? Old and evident
With no sentry to guard
Its decaying stature
Not defined as life
But merely an existence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem