WHEN I AM OLD
When my dreams get as old as me, when their wrinkles are bound to my forehead and cheeks I will lean on my walking stick. Life is a journey and I know this. Even if I am blind I will see a bird which is little or big. Who knows if it hasn't saved the wings for my dreams? Even if I am deaf I will hear the sounds of the nimble streams. Who knows if they haven't changed my tears for pearl beads? When I get old I will ask my life if it wasn't born on a cinema's screen. When I am old I will never scold my hurting knees. I will probably lean on my walking stick. My words will jump like the waves in winds.
Hey, life! Are you my journey and am I your cherished gift?