The Old People's Home

A rusty-coloured gate, no name,
The passage to the old people's home.

Amidst the stones in the yard
The grass has withered
Under the weight of many canes.

Behind the curtains, on the windowsills
Dentures float
In water glasses here and there,
Like messages in bottles bobbing on the high sea
Never to be read.

The gate to the old people's home,
Bearing two sad numbers
Is always opened in silence
And hesitation
Like the Bible's much-thumbed pages.

by Luljeta Lleshanaku

Other poems of LLESHANAKU (25)

Comments (6)

...for that new bridge... Well expressed piece of poetry. Sylva- Onyema Uba.
I take the opportunity to read once more the poem and likes to understand it and great poet's words a wonderful creation.
I like this one, its Good
A good poem worth for reading and enjoying and understanding the innermost thoughts of the poet about the life and the inevitable death in such a situation.
War cuts like a dispassionate knife Art and poetry in its ruthless path And yet the best of poem was so writ In trenches of strife with grieving hearts
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