The cycle
He is sitting in his rocking chair,
His hands are shaking too
The globe keeps shaking
Time keeps passing
Deadly slow.
It cruelly counts down his age
His wrinkles are deep like life
His youth and health
Slip by his hands, fade away
In the blink of an eye.
They left him
Weakly shakes his fist,
Sitting in his rocking chair
Waiting his time to knocks-
the time he will quit life’s door
And behind…
Leaving the rocking chair
There…
From time to time shaken
By life’s wind.
Socalledpoetry of Biba
So-called Poetry of Biba 