(For me, in a quarter of a century, more or less)
Tomorrow you will be an old man
The cane always with you
You will walk alone
You will mutter to yourself like all old geezers do
You will become obstinate, hard of hearing, and slow
You will ask for help when you need it
and no one will respond
You will dream of the past
and the good old days
While your grandson will think of the future
and days to come
You will curse this vapid generation
Repeating like a broken record
How wonderful our generation was
You will be the butt of jokes in the family
They will laugh at you and your positions
which you think are right on
Your lips will let a sarcastic smile
whenever they mention words like stubbornness,
vigor, and faith in the future
You might even laugh
Your bones will soften
Sicknesses will roam freely in your body
without permission
All your desires will be extinguished
except the desire to die
There will be no friend or companion
Loneliness will be your support and comrade
You will always be ready to depart
The threshold of the grave will entice you and keep you company
All the angels will betray you and leave
Only Azrael will approach you as a last friend
Perhaps you will say just as you are about to go:
If I die, burry me here in the strangers’ cemetery
Perhaps these words
will be you your final wish.
Translated by Sinan Antoon
EN 
MK