In the mirror I see myself,
There are wrinkles around my eyes,
My black locks are no more black,
They appear like salt on pepper *****.

I squeeze my eyes to try to read,
And search for my glasses - here and there,
Quite often I ask my family,
The same question again and again.

Small things appear much smaller,
Also I try hard to listen something,
Every morning I write my to-do list,
Yet I find myself doing nothing.

Some days I am left alone –
Other days, I am alone at home,
Every day I am told –
That I am getting old.

Yet in my dreams
I relive my old days.
Once when I was young,
And my spirits were high.

Time has changed everything
My people have changed sorely.
No wonders, every day I am told –
That I am getting old!

I hate it here,
where chaos is too much,
much too present,
I want to disappear,
behind curtains of hair
or anything else to
hide my descend,
there is something that
needs to be understood;
I don't deal well with
too-much-ness,
Anxiety has its own smell,
it resides in the comfort of my hood,
and, when they look at me
as if their eyes can undress,
I slip a false smile on my lips,
while my soul's opposition begs to yell.