I watch him trudging through the gardens,
cooling sweat with my breath,i ignore the beautiful maidens,

I watch the numerous lines on his face every single day,
like the twisted lanes of the garden as he makes his way,

I can hear the high friction of his walk,
slow to move,slow to cover his usual path,

His arms are dry as a dead leaf,pale white,
I flex my own,and i know its temporary delight.

Do you feel the same as you watch dry leaves fall in winter?
do you feel its weakness as you catch them and they crack,
broken by age,

The vanity that you have when you look at the mirror,
fragile it is like its glass,your confidence’s pillar,

the temporary frame so perfect,you and i possess,
the long and shiny tresses the women caress,

like an imperfect home for our infected souls,
a matter of time for it to be decayed,

meticulously worn chemical masks to cleanse your pores,
thin layers of hope,for the inevitable to be delayed,

masks of chemicals,worn to give you radiance,
masks of chemicals,here is artificial elegance,

the philosopher’s stone,elixirs of youth,created by the heretics,
bowls of arsenic,legends of the chinese,drunk by the fanatics,

does the sight of an old man,mature your soul?
or does it evoke fear,knowing well on you too,time will take its toll?

For all that he may have seen and experienced,do you respect him?
for the fact that it is your fate too,do you feel grim?

The day will come when you might feel his pain,
the day will come when you may no longer enjoy rain,

The day will come when you will be a wasted man for a young one’s sight,
the day will come when you will enter your life’s night.