A thousand winters
and a hundred summers passed,
Sitting on this window,
looking out into the sun,
My eyes, so dark, so cold,
yet you in them, so young,
so pure, My Life.
Laughters aged to cries,
excitements to scared whispers,
Smiles aging away,
pictures of miseries,
brought about by you ,
Life.
Yet I sit here,
after all these seasons,
my keen eyes kissing the sun,
I can't move, I feel so old,
so feeble.
A spark lights the floor,
the rooms you left so dry, Life.
I turn to look, my keen eyes look through the boards
the boards of the floor, the years of my life,
burning up in smoke, the cracking of the board,
as they burnt yesterday,
the day before, and today.
looking at the burning floor
I see ashes of my life
the ashes I in hail,
the smoke that prevails,
My eyes so musty,
so much blinded.
Going weaker.
I was misguided, left dry in this same room I was born in,
Oh Life,
it was a good though, whilst it lasted.
Let another year, burn by.
I await another winter.
