The wanderer's wanderlust stopped at once
as he got a stroke.
He strolls with his walking stick only a short distance.
It's not like his early days.
When he was a stripling looks like a horseman.
He is speechless because of the shock
and gradually he became bedridden.
This handsome man never used a bedpan
but now his wife brings him all the time.
Life perverts him very unkindly
anyway the beloved with him as a shadow.
Flies and Maggots in friendly terms
because of the bedsores.
The innocent soul drowns in the shallow waters
and he fades away in the wakefulness.
nimal dunuhinga
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-last-act-of-the-play/
