Old age will knock at my door too.
With white hair, aches, and sorrow.
It will wrench a cry from my soul
and it will be a jagged edge on my bed.
It will become a temporary shadow.
A judge with a memory devoid of passion.
It will be the breath of lonely evenings.
It will be my wrinkled self.
Inevitably, it will reign within me
without a crown and a glorious throne.
In my joy, it will mourn defiantly
and in my peace, it will bring strife.
I will resist it with all my might.
I will tell myself I’m still young.
And I will even wish to long for
the rays of a pure meteor shower.
It will be my companion for a while.
Until the final Holy gate.
Goodbye, with it my spirit will take flight,
like the wind with the yellow leaves.
And when I pass beyond,
it will stay here. Without me.
Like some gray imprint
of a life surrendered to decay.
Like a stump, drying from the roots
to remain forever dry…
GLORY TO GOD! I WILL SOAR UP!
For man in heaven is spirit!
Stefan Glavchev
(Fleeting Remains)
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