In the pleasant afternoon
The young boys are playing football in the green ground,
Sitting under a tree nearby, the old spectacled man is watching the boys,
Playing exuberantly, running and dribbling with the ball with great skill,
They seem to him as fresh and living as a mass of green foliage.
The old man remembers the glorious days of his youth,
When he used to play in the same grassy field with his companions with the same jubilant spirit and energy,
But being old, he has lost his vigour and strength
And he is weak and infirm at present.
This is the cruelty of old age,
No one can deny its stubborn clutches,
As it is an inevitable stage of the life cycle;
Indeed the old man can never go back to his powerful time of green foliage,
Rather can only recall his remarkable days of youth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem