A teenaged small girl
Sitting with her white and old hair,
But she not,
How can it be? ,
I thought
While passing on the platform.
A dark boy I saw him
His hair like steppes striped
In white and black
And beards looking white,
A strange feeling passed I through internally
With regard ailment, old age and fashion and designing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem