Slowly I get up, slowly I sit,
Slowly I run to my old man
No sound, the zero power bulb I unlit,
As slowly as I can,
How can one run slow, shit!
But at this old age one manages it,
The old man wants me at mid night,
And I had promised all right, all right,
An age in that love is no more beauty,
Merely a habit or just a duty.
Slowly I feel, slowly I enjoy,
The age of play has gone,
Still we need a toy!
An excellent composition sir! I sincerely appreciate the undertone...........................10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
such simplicity and so much beauty you are not old enough yet SIR JAWAD I am about 80 and you know it life edges d epends on one's mind but yes I am not now LIKE @16 But my mind is still green