A cool breeze touched his white hair
While he was walking in the mystery street
Long life has made him to bend,
In front of the things those the history made
He was old, old enough to see the world for what it is
He was old, old enough to feels the death
He was old, old enough to think about the life that passes
He was old, old enough to see the real masses
White hair, as white as the teeth
Teeth those just moved for lots of times
Which were covered by glasses, Glasses of lies? !
Hands of times aren't cruel, it's their duty
We can't stop them of the work they are doing
BUT! A time, it's our turn...
To be old, and then burn...
The old man wanted nothing instead of a simple respect
Respect, the thing that is forgotten for these people
A day that old man was young and powerful, but so prideful
And now he is old like his father that was…but now he is none full
He just needs respect, a respect for his white hair
Respect for his long life that is passed
Respect for his respectful heart
That now is tears a part.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem