Old Age

I will write till the death
I will write even if I don't have wealth
Its my hobby
When I sit alone in my empty lobby
Dreams of day and night
Where warriors have glorious fight
When I write there shines a light
Not in sky but in my brain
Which heals my all sort of pain
There is rain in every village
When I will be old
Will my family leave me in a corner
And take privillage
Will they send me to an oldage home
Which I don't like even if it is in Rome
My life will become miserable
With no one at my side
None will look after
None will give me pride
What if I be slain
They shall not care
They will enjoy themselves
By riding on a mare
What will happen if this becomes true
Then I will leave my own house all by myself
Let them arrange their life in a regular shelf
Remembering good times
Remembering bad
I will think about my mom and dad
Nobody will be there except my writings
Which once accompanied me in sorrow
Which will insist me not to borrow
Months passed by days went
What will happen if my life is to be spent
In an oldage home
With a sorrow and distressful mind
When there will be no longer to bind
Then I will welcome death
And leave my property and wealth
And I will go where spirits go
And not come back
Even if anybody call me and say me so

By Caesar Borgia