I Have Lived To A Ripe Old Age Poem by Mohammad Younus

I have lived to a ripe old age,
I am an orchard without fruit -
Brought to total devastation,
By the frosty and chilly winds;
My leaves wither and scatter,
As the leaves from Chinar tree -
Get pale and red; fall and scatter,
In the withering season of autumn;
My fair head and pretty crown,
Have become bald and barren,
While wandering for years -
In the thorny deserts of the world;
Each hair of my beard has turned grey,
Signalling that Azrael is ready -
With conch in his hand;
But, even if, at this last hour,
The light of God shines - -
Upon my soul and in my heart...
There is no loss, fear, or regret;
If I can't stand the irresistible light,
I will fall a martyre immortal;
I will drown in the fluorescent light -
My entire heart shall glitter,
With the beams of divine light...
My soul shall rejoice and dance,
And resonate with mellow sound!

Mykoul