The old, retired professor slowly travels away

down his dusty inclined, stairway.

Sadly,  as he goes alone

his thoughts are his dearest, internal home.

His eyes are red but not the blame

as he stares through his cracked glasses.

 The memories are not the same

 his teachings, students and classes.

The birds joyfully sing while he listens and observes,

  the sunlight that arrives very early in the morning.

On he goes to his quiet room while calming his shaking nerves,

 struggling with all his might to complete his lifetime story.

At nighttime when the world’s asleep

in a melancholic state the writer weeps.

Not anyone discovers the writer’s deepest feelings,

what’s in his heart and soul , continuous believing.

He looks through the window at the moon and stars,

wandering why we are here and who we really are.

His only question is if to surrender the important events of life.

To be or not to be that is his greatest question

or if to continue everyday teaching an important  lesson.

Should his message be left as  a splendid gift of a treasured life?

May then and this way,

humanity will understand the important bread of right.