Those are men on the path, you are on wayside,
They are rushing to their work, work does not concern you.
Age has given you plentifully, and has robbed you, as well,
Much more has been lost than whatever you could save.
Scars appear, other scars cover them,
No scar remains distinct at the end.
Places where familiar faces had a nest
Grew easily into an unknown crowd.
You smile serenely whereas they expect
To spend their day unruffled, indeed.
[ Senjuti, "Lamp for the Evening rites", 1936]