Not own dream, weak bones and falling fleash.
Leaving my younghood to a place of weakness and spinelessness.
It was like yesterday i became a man,today
an old man leaving a lot of competitions and risks Now i have become an experience narrator of past glory.
Now i sleep and dream on how to narrate my past glory to children
This handsome skin falling like a bull dog saliva.
Hair running backward afraid to face challenges.
Teeth falling down like walls of Jericho.
Sickness attacking the old skin like Legion.
Old age is the beginning of death.
So i did catch a lot of fun in my youthful days,
which makes me professor of past glory.
The comming out of gray hair is like the wheat planted with the tears.
The unpleasant voice is as loud as an ant while speaking.
The weaken eyes is an esclipe of the big star to the earth.
Is there any glory in getting old?
One day this body will become a debt
to the maggot that will suck into it.
The fly that will follow it into the darkhall,
will regreat and shed tears.
Eyes that see everything,
From which I can hide nothing...
Tell me what you see,
When you look down upon me?
Is it weakness,
Is it meekness?
Is it strength and boldness,
Or is it soullessness?
Is it selfishness,
Or forebearingness?
Is it brain and bliss,
Is it the innocence of a first kiss?
Is it the beauty of a sunset,
Is it passion no one could ever forget?
Is it the calmness of a babe,
Is it the fury of a tidal wave?
Is it spinelessness,
Or is it spitefulness?
Is it utter quiet,
I am what you made me and I cannot deny it.
I try to be and praise you everyday,
And in every single way.
I am who you made me to be,
And in the end I hope you are happy with me.
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