In a labyrinth of time, every second is a grain of sand scattered

In a labyrinth of time, every second is a grain of sand scattered, everything hurts: old age is a veil of shadow over my thoughts, and death, an old acquaintance, draws closer with every tick of the clock, an old man like me can vanish in an instant, like a star that fades away, leaving behind only memories and echoes of lost dreams. While the young chase fleeting illusions and desires like butterflies, the old walk paths where death is a beacon on the horizon, yet the years grant you the gift of seeing magic in small things, like a grapefruit glowing like a tiny sun in your hands, or a bridge connecting dreamlands, a dog guarding the gate to the soul, even a simple piece of sidewalk becomes a path to the unknown. And all the other things around you suddenly seem... new, the world is a flower of a thousand colors, though sometimes with shadowy petals, and when you drive on boulevards, watching those in their cars, you think: each of them will eventually navigate to the stars. It's strange, isn't it, that each of them will eventually navigate to the stars? Then, fortunately, I will free my thoughts from the burden of death, forget that I am... old, and feel once more that I am 45, while somewhere, someone waters a small plant in a pot like a universe, while a plane crashes with a fierce explosion into the mountain of destiny, while deep in the sea, strange creatures dance in silence, the poet remains shackled to his helpless self, like a dreamer trapped in a dream.