I see an old woman. Probably pretty in her youth but now touched my the hands of age and time.
Her picture is shown against a background of a desert and barren land.
I feel a kind of sober, remembering how one moves through the most memorable and joyful part of life; from childhood, teen, youth and up to old age. Its shows nothing stays the same. Time must happen to it.
Just as the staircase runs from the marble housetop,
Glistening and rolling down the bright sunlight,
With surface so enticing,
And a beauty so hypnotic,
So does the age steeps by and by.
Youth a time of prime,
Were the silk maiden walks in pride,
Her steps stirs the heart of lions,
And soft-eyed smile breaks the defences of fortresses.
Like the petal that adorns the sepal,
Like a pearl among common beads,
So does prying eyes of her seekers single her out!
Its a time of plenty,
A shower of milk-snows,
A dose of painkiller, so her touch works,
It waters the heart of warriors,
Like the rains for planting.
Like the cherished doe of a white bunny,
And the rays of the setting sun,
On the furs of a grazing gazelle,
So a pretty picture does she paints out!
But by and by,
The hands of years going by,
Carve on her pathways of age,
Like a century of running waters on the standing rock,
So does time write on her brows.
The sun has done it round upon her sky,
Now it sinks below the cover of darkness,
Lightless like the unrisen moon!
She ceases to radiate glory,
Like the waning moon she hubble's by,
No more songs of her beauty, praises,
Nor the soft whistle of a charmed young man,
But like a desert lying beside a lush forest,
So does she appear in contrast to her youth.
Every sight so barren to the eyes,
Holes in the heart which was never bare,
With furrows where time bore and burrows.
And a face where age shows it handiwork!
No more strings of admiration,
Played by the hands of a skilled hero,
Except when the ears rings of perspiration,
And the bell of years gone by,
Jingles by and bye.