In the eyes of youth,
old age is a spectre—
cold, ugly and distant,
already dead,
something from which
the gaze must be stolen
and the eyes turned away.

And how strange
that in the heart of the old,
beauty is still beauty,
love is still love,
and life is still life.

When the time to leave arrives,
beneath the heavy dust of all those long years
upon your face,
your heart will still die young,
and your hands will still thirst to touch beauty.

When the time to leave arrives,
you will again see
your younger self in the mirror,
with a smile to see you off.

Aydin Areta