Old men understand that everything fades. Old men understand that everything has an end. Old men understand because they reached the karma of reviewing life more than interacting with it. Old men don’t cry because they have all the old tissues in their old closets. Old tissues for old men which would never gave its secrets to a bold stud. Old men, also, do not let their soul goes after a laugh, nor their eyes hurrahing the longing ray of the moon.
They are The Real Old Men, boy, the real old men.
Young men must be fool, must be cry, and must be like raped closets with ripped-out tissues.
That’s life pal.
Don’t ask to have elders’ dynasty while you have that unleashed laugh. Don’t search for the elders’ doom while you have the privilege of being fool, of being devastated, of being defeated. Just know that knowledge is nothing like understanding, and that seeing is nothing like reviewing.
Don’t be dread like this. Everything has an end. That’s true my friend, but you remember; you’d never predict what would start.
As they would say, God is so as having neither no start nor end. We are, after our small miracles here and there, just mere humans.
Dylan Thomas once said; and death shall have no dominion, yet I tell you; and longing shall have an end.